


Where the Heart Is

by SuePokorny



Series: The Cardinal Mazarin Files [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:31:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuePokorny/pseuds/SuePokorny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to deal with the ache in his heart, Aramis makes a decision that effects everyone surrounding him. When a threat to the Dauphin is revealed, who will protect him when his champion can not? This is the third story in a four-story arc following 'For Whom the Bells Toll' and 'Secrets and Lies'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is the third story in my four-story arc. This follows the events in “For Whom the Bells Toll’ and “Secrets and Lies”. It would probably help if you read them first, as parts of this story deal with the events that happened in those. Again, thanks to my beta, Sharlot, who spends a lot of time editing these for me (as well as whining about there not being enough Annamis scenes!!) She is priceless!! I hope you enjoy!

Where the Heart Is

Porthos sat at the table, watching his friend. Aramis half-heartedly played with his food, moving the bits of meat around the bowl, dark eyes focused on something no one else could see. He hadn’t as yet taken a bite of the stew Serge had ladled up for him, nor a nibble of the warm fresh bread wafting its alluring aroma throughout the courtyard despite most of the other men having finished their meals and gone back to their duties.

Ever since returning to the garrison after being shot in the attack at the palace, Aramis had retreated into himself, sullen, quiet; a shadow of the garrulous man they’d come to know. He had been full of joy and hope while recuperating at the palace, even having the opportunity to see the Dauphin in the company of the Queen. But since Anne had made it clear their affair could not continue because of the danger it posed to all of them, Aramis had sunken into a depression that none of his brothers had been able to pull him from.

It was obvious from the dark circles under his eyes that the marksman wasn’t sleeping and his lack of appetite had caused a drop in weight, resulting in his belt hanging loosely on his hips and his normally robust complexion to appear sallow and pale.

At first they were able to pass it off as effects from the wound sustained in the attack, but with it now all but healed, Aramis still seemed to be performing his limited duties by rote, without the enthusiastic banter they normally associated with the loquacious Spaniard.

Athos slid onto the bench beside him and Porthos turned his head, giving him a grim look before sighing and returning his attention to his own meal. Few things could temper the big man’s appetite, but Aramis’ current state had proved to be one of them.

“Has he eaten anything?”

Porthos shook his head at Athos’ soft inquiry, his eyes sliding back to the quiet man at the end of the table. “Nothin’. Just sits there and stares at…,” he shrugged his shoulders, “whatever it is he’s starin’ at.”

Athos sighed. “This has to stop.”

“You got any ideas, I’m open to ‘em.”

Captain Tréville had kept Aramis on light duty around the garrison in deference to his condition, knowing it would take time for Aramis to regain his strength from the loss of blood he’d suffered. But even the Captain’s patience had its limits, and Porthos feared they were fast approaching that threshold.

“Perhaps we should try the direct approach?” Athos suggested.

Porthos waved a hand to indicate he should give it a try.

Athos pushed himself from the table and crossed behind Porthos, settling himself on the bench directly in front of Aramis. The Spaniard didn’t seem to notice.

“Aramis,” Athos said quietly. He reached across the table and laid his hand on his friend’s stopping the motion of the spoon within the bowl. After a few moments, Aramis seemed to notice Athos’ touch and looked up, blinking as if awakening from a dream. “Aramis,” Athos continued slowly. “This behavior must end. You aren’t doing anyone any good by punishing yourself.”

Aramis snorted a laugh through his nose, his eyes dropping once again to the table. “And just what would you have me do?”

“A start would be to eat your food instead of play with it.”

“I’m not hungry.” He dropped the spoon into the bowl and pushed it away.

“Aramis,” Porthos slid down the bench until he was shoulder to shoulder with Athos. “You need to eat. You need to sleep. You can’t keep going like this or…”

“Or what?” Aramis voice was loud in the deserted courtyard. “Or I’ll be relieved of duty? Maybe that would be for the best.” He lowered his head, elbows on the table, his hands grasping his tangled curls.

“We want to help you,” Porthos continued, “but you have to snap out of this. What are we supposed to tell the Captain when he asks what’s wrong?”

“I don’t care,” Aramis responded, shaking his head in exhaustion. “It doesn’t matter.”

The two Musketeers exchanged a worried glance. They’d never seen their friend so despondent. Even after losing so much at Savoy, Aramis had still been able to seek refuge in his friends, trusting them to hold him together long enough for his own self-worth to resurface and allow him the strength to come to terms with the overwhelming guilt and grief. But now, his world had been shattered once more, and the despair was dragging him further and further from them. There was no blood, no death, but the loss was perhaps worse. This time, Aramis had lost his heart and his soul when the Queen had said goodbye, and Porthos wasn’t sure the man even wanted to recover from it.

Captain Tréville appeared on the balcony above them and motioned for Athos to join him. Porthos didn’t miss the concerned glance the Captain directed toward Aramis, and nodded as Athos squeezed his arm as he rose to answer the summons.

“We’ll finish this later,” he whispered as he leaned over the table, purposely invading Aramis space to make sure he had the younger man’s attention.

Aramis didn’t bother to respond and Athos shook his head before stalking off to the stairs.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“I have a summons from the King that needs to be delivered to a Compte a few hours ride from Paris. I was considering sending Aramis, but I wanted your opinion first.”

Athos sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think he’s ready to be sent anywhere just yet, Captain.”

Tréville pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. May I ask why? According to the surgeon, his wound is nearly healed, yet he looks as pale and withdrawn as the day he returned to the garrison -- if not worse.”

Athos shifted on his feet, at a loss at what to tell the Captain. “I appreciate your leniency, Captain. Aramis is… distraught. But I assure you, Porthos and I are doing everything we can to get through to him.”

Tréville stared at him through narrowed eyes before sighing and dropping his attention to the papers scattered atop his desk. “See that you do. I can’t afford to have one of my best soldiers out of commission for much longer.”

Athos allowed a small grin to lift the corner of his mouth at the Captain’s gruff attempt to hide his affection for the marksman. Whether it was due to his guilt for his part in the massacre of Savoy that Aramis alone survived, or because of a true fondness for the man, Athos couldn’t tell, but either way, he was going to take the clemency the Captain was offering.

Tréville stepped around the desk and held out a sealed parchment. “This is the summons to be delivered. Take Porthos with you.”

At Athos’ hesitation, Tréville nodded his understanding. “d’Artagnan is due back within the hour. I will be sure to have him stay close to Aramis until your return.”

“Thank you, sir.” Athos accepted the parchment and noted the name and province of the recipient. The address was a village about ten liueu from Paris, roughly a four hour round trip if they encountered no difficulty along the way. It seemed like a straightforward missive that should allow them to return by nightfall. “We’ll leave straight away.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

It was late afternoon when Tréville again appeared on the balcony, He leaned his arms against the rail and took stock of the courtyard below. Most of the men were out on duty, either at the palace or on missions for the King or Cardinal Mazarin. Francois was limping toward the kitchen where he would be helping Serge prepare the meals until his broken leg healed and Henri was in his quarters, resting from the bout of sickness he had come down with two days ago. Although the physician said the young man would be fit for duty, he was still harboring a hacking cough and Tréville wasn’t eager to send him to the palace in such a condition.

His eyes landed on the two men sitting at the main table beneath the balcony. He’d promised Athos he’d have d’Artagnan stay near Aramis, but with no other candidates to choose from, his options were limited. He considered making the trip to the Palace himself, but that would mean leaving d’Artagnan in charge of the garrison and he wasn’t sure the lad was ready for that type of responsibility yet. If Aramis had been fully recovered, he would not have hesitated to take care of this business in person, but it was clear from the way the marksman sat hunched against the table that he was still despondent and not fit for duty.

Still, a soldier must put his duty ahead of his own misfortune. Maybe having something to take his mind off whatever was haunting him would give him a much needed reprieve from his suffering.

“D’Artagnan!” 

D’Artagnan’s head shot up as Tréville made his way down the steps, and the young Musketeer made to stand as his superior approached the table.

“I have a message that needs to be delivered to the Cardinal,” Tréville stated, noting the mention of the Palace had caught Aramis’ attention. “I need you to deliver it at once.”

D’Artagnan looked back toward Aramis hesitantly. “I’m um…”

Tréville noted his reluctance to leave the marksman alone, assuming he had probably made a pact with Athos and Porthos to look after their ailing friend until he was able to function again on his own.

“Aramis,” Tréville turned to the Spaniard. “I know you are not yet on full duty, but perhaps you would feel up to accompanying d’Artagnan on this mission?” He allowed a fond smile to grace his lips. “I understand your recovery has been difficult. Perhaps a change of scenery would do you good.”

Aramis smiled the first genuine smile Tréville had seen from the man in weeks. “I would consider it an honor, Captain.”

Tréville nodded and handed over the message, considering the matter settled. It was a simple directive to the most secure place in all of Paris. No matter what was distressing the Musketeer, how much trouble could he possibly get into at the Palace?

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

As they approached the portico leading to the wing housing the Cardinal’s office, Aramis slowed, placing a hand over the healing wound in his side. He closed his eyes and bent forward, hissing in pain. D’Artagnan immediately placed a hand on his friend’s arm, frowning with concern.

“Aramis? Are you ill?”

The older Musketeer shook his head. “I’m fine, d’Artagnan. The wound just aches when I’ve moved around too much.”

It had been a short walk across the Pont Neuf to the Louvre and they had taken it at an easy pace, but it was still the most physical activity Aramis had experienced in the last few weeks. D’Artagnan was well aware of the concern plaguing Athos and Porthos over the condition of their friend and he shared their unease. Since returning from the palace, Aramis had been too quiet, distancing himself from them all, no longer the lively spirit d’Artagnan had become accustomed to. He knew the older Musketeers understood the reasons for their friend’s sudden withdrawal, but they had, so far, been disinclined to share it. In any case, it was obvious the man should not have come and d’Artagnan was torn between completing the missive Captain Tréville had assigned him and attending his ailing friend.

“Do not worry about me, d’Artagnan.” Aramis motioned toward the archway they were passing that led to the East wing. “I will wait for you inside. There is bound to be a nice soft settee close by I can rest on while you take Tréville’s message to the Cardinal.”

D’Artagnan hesitated, unsure whether or not to leave the man alone. He looked pale, but he’d been pale for weeks and d’Artagnan tentatively nodded his agreement. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Aramis waved him off as he attempted to help him inside. “Do not hurry on my account. I will be quite comfortable inside out of the sun.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Go,” Aramis said good-naturedly. “You wouldn’t want to keep the Cardinal waiting.”

With a sigh of frustration, the younger man hurried off down the portico.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis hated himself for lying to his young friend, but he was a desperate man. Athos had been right – this couldn’t go on. His every thought since returning to the garrison was of his son. His soft skin, his innocent face. Aramis longed to hold him, to see recognition of their bond in his eyes. It had become an obsession; enough of a fixation that he’d jumped at the chance Tréville had offered and callously used d’Artagnan’s trust against him. D’Artagnan had the fortitude to become a great Musketeer, but he was still naïve and trusted far too easily. Though experience would eventually temper that trust and make the young man less inclined to take anyone’s word as gospel, it was a trait Aramis could use to his advantage now. Even though it made d’Artagnan easy to manipulate by those who knew him best, Aramis hoped the Gascon could hold on to his naivety as long as possible before the jaded reality of soldiering reared its bitter head.

Striding through the entrance to the East wing as if he had every right to be there, Aramis quickly found his way to the room he had occupied for the few days he’d spent recovering in the palace. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he silently slipped inside the room and hurried to the secret door on the opposite wall. Pulling aside the heavy drapery that concealed the secret panel, he pushed against it, his heart beginning to quicken as the dark passage opened before him.

The passage had been illuminated by candlelight when Anne had guided him through it, but he was sure he could navigate the turns from memory even in the bleak darkness.

With one hand on the wall, he cautiously felt his way along the stone floor, his eyes trying in vain to see through the inky blackness surrounding him. When he’d negotiated the final turn, he reached to his left and placed both hands against the wall, feeling for the smoothness of the panel he knew would be there. As his fingers met the flat pane of the door, he sucked in a tremulous breath, his heart heaving against his chest. Slowly he pushed, moving the panel only a few pouce and peaked out of the small opening.

Another drapery blocked his view of the room. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow, listening for sounds of activity beyond. He could detect no one moving about and slowly pushed the panel further. As soon as the opening was wide enough, he slipped through, keeping the drapery between him and the open expanse of the room.

He held his breath and listened again, his heartbeat loud in his ears, but still there was no other sound. Then a soft gurgle drifted through the stillness and he swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.

He was here.

The Dauphin was here, alone.

Aramis had no doubt there were guards stationed outside the nursery door as well as nurses and maids on duty, seeing to the safety and wellbeing of the young prince. But for now, the room seemed to be empty save for his son and himself.

Quietly he stepped out from behind the drapery, his eyes drawn to the bassinette in the center of the room. Barely daring to breathe, he crossed the room, his footsteps muffled on the immense Persian tapestry that covered the cold marble floor. Looking into the crib, he was surprised to see two sparkling deep blue eyes staring back at him.

“Hello there,” he whispered, a smile breaking across his face. “What beautiful eyes you have.”

The child had been asleep when Anne had brought him here before, and he’d mourned the opportunity to see the boy’s gaze connecting with his.

The baby gurgled again and wriggled inside the blankets, one arm escaping and reaching out as if beckoning to him. He lowered a hand, choking back a laugh as the tiny hand grabbed onto his finger.

“Such a strong grip,” he cooed. “I know you are going to grow to be a great King someday.” Without considering his actions, Aramis instinctively reached into the bassinette and lifted the child, holding him close to his chest, tracing a finger down the soft cheek. “There are so many things I wish to tell you, so many things I wish to teach you –“ his voice faltered as his eyes began to fill with tears. “I wish… I wish so much for you, my son…”

A noise startled him and he looked up to see someone enter the room. His heart leapt to his throat as the woman stepped into the light and gasped at seeing the Musketeer, sword and harquebus hanging from his belt, standing in the center of the room cradling the Dauphin in his arms.

For a moment neither of them spoke as they stared at each other in shock. It was Aramis who broke the tense silence.

“Madame Bonacieux.” He nearly sagged in relief at the familiar face. He had heard from d’Artagnan that Constance had been offered a position in the Queen’s court. It was Aramis himself who had recommended the seamstress, hoping Anne could find someone to confide in, someone she could trust within the walls of the Louvre. 

“Aramis?” Constance responded, wide eyed and confused. “What…?” Her eyes moved to the open panel door and the dark passage beyond. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her consternation was quickly replaced with irritation as she strode across the floor. “You have no right to be here.”

I have more right than anyone, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

Constance gently took the child from him and placed him back into the bassinette. Once the baby was settled, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away as voices were heard in the adjoining chamber. “You have to leave, now!” Her voice was panicked as she pushed him toward the panel and he craned his neck for one last look at the infant wriggling in the crib behind him.

“Constance, please,” he pleaded. “You don’t understand.”

The voices were growing louder as she shoved him forcibly through the doorway. “You can explain later. Now go!”

Gloom encompassed his eyes and his heart as the panel clicked shut and he found himself alone in the cold passage. He leaned back against the rough stone wall and closed his eyes, bringing a vision of the baby’s innocent face to his mind. He smiled, but his heart was heavy. How was he supposed to stay away? How was he supposed to go on, pretending that everything would be all right when his heart was breaking? If Anne didn’t want his love, there was nothing he could do. She was entitled to make her own decisions, but what of his son? He was just a baby, unaware of who or what he would need in his life. Was he supposed to simply forget about him? Go on as if there was nothing connecting them together?

Aramis didn’t know if he could. He knew Anne was right, to acknowledge the baby’s true parentage would condemn them all, but to watch from a distance as they lived their lives without him was a torture he was not sure he could withstand. He could see no solution to the dilemma and he knew even to hope was to condemn himself to misery.

Depression enveloped him like a blanket. Maybe it would be better for him to leave Paris. Maybe it would be easier to forget if he was no longer faced with the possibility of seeing them each and every day. He was no good to Tréville in his current state, and he couldn’t endanger his brothers by continuing on his current path. But he knew of no way to alter it. Athos and Porthos had always trusted him with their lives, and he had relished the faith they’d shown in his ability to defend them at all costs. But he feared those days were now gone. His indiscretion had put them all at risk, and now his persistent pursuit of an unattainable goal could further endanger them. His friends were right. It needed to stop.

He just had no idea how.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

D’Artagnan paced around the portico, his eyes sweeping up and down the walkway for what seemed like the hundredth time since he’d returned to the East wing. He’d delivered the message to the Cardinal, waiting patiently for the man to compose his reply before hurrying back to the archway where he’d left Aramis to rest – only to find the Spaniard nowhere in sight.

His first thought was that Aramis had felt better and started back to the garrison without him, but he quickly dismissed the notion, knowing his friend would never worry him thusly. He considered the possibility that he’d maybe collapsed and been taken to a room to rest, but there did not seem to be any undue activity that would indicate such a crisis had occurred. A quick search of the immediate area had confirmed the Musketeer missing and d’Artagnan was at a loss to explain his absence. As concern slowly turned to annoyance, the young Musketeer began to wonder if Aramis had come upon a willing young woman and escaped into one of the rooms of the palace for an afternoon dalliance. Although the marksman had looked to be in no shape for such exertion, d’Artagnan would not put it past him and his anger and frustration grew as time passed.

Soft, shuffling footsteps echoed from beyond the archway and d’Artagnan hurried back inside, relieved to see Aramis appear at the doors of the East wing. All anger flew from his mind as he took in the pale countenance of his friend as well as his haggard breathing. Aramis looked even worse than he had before.

“Aramis?”

“I’m fine, d’Artagnan,” the older man assured him. His voice shook and his smile seemed forced. Worried, d’Artagnan placed a hand on his back for support.

“Where were you? I thought you were to wait for me here?”

“I sought something to drink,” Aramis responded. His eyes skittered away and d’Artagnan recognized the obvious lie. “I thought some cool water would make me feel better.”

“Do you think you can make it back to the garrison?” d’Artagnan asked, concern etched on his youthful face. Whatever had happened to the man had erased any sign of progress he’d shown since they’d left the garrison. “Should I summon a cart?” His friend really didn’t look well. His normally lively eyes were clouded and bloodshot and his shoulders stooped as if they carried a great weight.

Aramis chuckled, but it lacked the man’s usual charm. “Always the worrier, my young friend. If we take it slow, I’m sure we will make it back without incident.”

D’Artagnan guided him forward, praying he was right.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Where the Heart Is –Chapter 2

It was just after sunset when Athos and Porthos rode back through the archway of the garrison. D’Artagnan was sitting at the table, sharpening his sword on a whetstone, idly conversing with some of the other members of the regiment. A quick glance at the faces present told the two returning soldiers that Aramis was not among them.

Porthos sighed in frustration as he dismounted and handed the reins of his mount to the stable boy. He pulled off his gloves as he stepped up next to Athos, his dark eyes taking in the entirety of the courtyard.

“You go report to Trevile,” he said as he tucked his gloves into his belt. “I’ll speak to d’Artagnan. See what’s what.”

Athos nodded solemnly and headed to the stairs as Porthos stretched the kinks from his back and ambled over to the table. 

“He’s in his quarters,” d’Artagnan stated before Porthos had a chance to ask. 

“Sleeping?”

The younger man shrugged his shoulders and set the sword down on the top of the table. “He obviously needs it, but…”

Porthos huffed a laugh. “But since when does Aramis do what’s best for him, eh?”

“Tréville sent us to the Palace today.”

Porthos leaned against the table, his eyes wide in surprise. “Us meaning both you and Aramis?”

“He didn’t have much choice. With Francois and Henri still out of commission there was no one else to send.”

Porthos nodded, knowing there was more. “And?”

D’Artagnan sighed, his face clouding with guilt.

“Something happened,” he blurted out. “I don’t know what, but when I came back to get him –“

Porthos clasped a hand on the younger man’s forearm, startling him with his intensity. “You left him alone? At the Palace?”

D’Artagnan stared back in confusion. “I had to deliver Tréville’s message then wait for the Cardinal’s reply. Aramis wasn’t feeling well, so he said he would wait for me near the East wing…” His voice trailed off at the look of aggravation on Porthos’ face.

“Don’t tell me, he wasn’t where you left him?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “Not at first. He finally showed up, through the doors of the East wing, and he looked so miserable I thought he’d hurt himself somehow.”

Porthos shook his head, his mouth a thin line, his brow furrowed. 

The east wing. 

Where Aramis had stayed during his recuperation. Where The Queen had visited him, where she had shown him a way to move through the palace undetected, straight to the one place he longed to be.

“Idiot.” 

D’Artagnan immediately went on the defensive. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t –“

“Not you,” Porthos growled. He looked up, seeing the bewilderment on the young man’s face. He sighed, suddenly worn out, tired of trying to make sense of a senseless situation. “I’m sorry, lad. I know this is all a bit hard to understand –“

“Then explain it to me,” d’Artagnan threw back. His eyes blazed and he looked at Porthos, as if challenging the man to lie to him. He looked around quickly and leaned close, his voice pitched to a low whisper. “You and Athos know something about Aramis that you’ve been hiding from me, from everyone. You’re trying to protect him, that much is obvious, but I can’t help you unless I know what we’re protecting him from.”

Himself, Porthos thought sadly. 

As much as he wanted to tell d’Artagnan, to let the young man in, it wasn’t his secret to tell. Aramis had made it clear he didn’t want anyone else put in danger and Porthos had vowed to abide by his decision. They knew d’Artagnan would eventually sense something awry, and he’d probably be angry that they were withholding something of such magnitude from him, but if it came to a choice between his umbrage and his life, they would accept his anger graciously. It was possible he would end up hating them, but he would live, and that would be enough. 

Porthos was saved from having to answer by the sound of Athos stomping down the stairway. As he approached, Porthos could tell the older man was seething in anger. His face remained passive, his gait as graceful as ever, but Porthos recognized the fire in his eyes, the stiff set of his shoulders and the hard line of his mouth. Anyone who didn’t know the man would think him perfectly calm. Porthos knew better.

“What?” he asked, rising from the table.

Athos stopped directly in front of him and took a deep breath before replying. “It would seem our friend, the Comte de Rochefort has been released from the bastille.”

“What?” Porthos asked, his voice rising in pitch. “Who would allow a fool thing like that?”

“The Cardinal himself pardoned the man just this morning.”

“But Rochefort admitted to trying to kill the Cardinal,” d’Artagnan protested. “Why would he want him free to try again?”

“I would assume the Cardinal made him an offer he could not refuse,” Athos surmised. “And now Rochefort is in his employ – as Captain of the Red Guard.”

“Has the whole world gone mad?” Porthos threw his hands in the air. 

“Apparently just our little corner of it.” 

“But Captain of the Red Guard?” d’Artagnan shook his head, reeling. “He’s not even a soldier!”

Athos nodded reluctantly. “He has the skills, and, as Comte, he has had the occasion to organize a force in order to protect his lands.”

“So now we have to keep an eye on Mazarin and Rochefort?” Porthos was beginning to wonder if they were cursed. After Aramis was shot, and everything they’d done to bring the man who tried to kill the Cardinal to justice, Mazarin just makes a deal with him and hands over the key to his cell? To what end? It was clear the new First Minister held no more regard for the Musketeers than his predecessor, but to hire a known assassin and to keep him in plain sight was preposterous, even for the Cardinal.

“Let us not forget Milady,” d’Artagnan reminded them.

“Huh,” Porthos grunted at the mention of Athos former wife. “Ain’t that just the unholiest little trinity?”

Athos ran a hand across his beard. “I’m afraid if our enemies continue to multiply we will soon be outnumbered.”

“Excuse me?”

The three men turned toward the familiar voice and d’Artagnan took a step forward, a surprised smile lifting his lips.

“Constance,” he greeted the woman with a formal bow. 

Athos and Porthos remained quiet, giving Constance a nod of greeting, their faces carefully schooled. The young woman had not been much of a presence at the garrison since she and d’Artagnan had parted ways. It was obvious the young Gascon was still enamored with the pretty seamstress, but he had respected her wishes to stay away and as his brothers, they had done what they could to ease his broken heart.

“Hello, d’Artagnan.” She blushed as she averted her eyes from the young man’s piercing stare. She glanced behind him at the other two Musketeers trying in vain to act as if they weren’t intruding on a private conversation. “Athos, Porthos,” she greeted.

The two men stood and bowed cordially.

“Madame Bonicieux,” Athos replied smoothly. “Do what do we owe the honor?”

Constance let her eyes roam the courtyard, a frown on her face. “I was hoping to speak to Aramis.”

D’Artagnan’s look of surprise was almost comical. “Aramis? What for?”

She fidgeted nervously before replying. “It is a private matter. Would he be available?”

Porthos stepped forward. “Aramis isn’t feeling well these days, Madame. I don’t think we ought to wake him unless it’s something important.”

Constance sighed, rolling her eyes in frustration. “I knew something was wrong. I was just… “She was wringing her hands, her anxiety rising. “It’s just that something like this can’t happen again. Especially if he’s not well. I can’t allow the Dauphin to be exposed to anything –“

“Wait,” Athos placed a hand on her arm, halting her rush of words. “Are you saying Aramis was with the Dauphin?”

She nodded. “This afternoon, in the nursery. I was able to get him out before anyone saw him but –“

“We’ll take care of it, Madame.” Athos voice was hard, his eyes once again alight with anger. “I assure you nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Constance nodded and took a deep breath, accepting the Musketeer’s assurance.

“Thank you.”

Athos gave her a fleeting smile. “Porthos, d’Artagnan, would you please see the Madame back to the palace? I have something to take care of.”

Perplexed, d’Artagnan offered Constance his arm and began to lead her to the archway. Porthos grasped Athos shoulder as he turned toward the barracks, squeezing tightly in warning. “Don’t go makin’ things worse than they already are,” he growled.

Athos looked from the big man’s hand to his face in a slow, controlled sweep. “How much worse can it possibly get?”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos didn’t bother to knock. Instead he pushed open the door to Aramis’ quarters hard enough to send the wood crashing back against the plaster wall. He stalked into the room, stopping directly in front of the disheveled figure slumped on edge of the bed.

Aramis was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. His eyes were vacant, staring at the floor, no sign of awaRenéss stirring in them. 

Athos crouched down in front of him and grabbed a wrist in his hand, shaking it in an attempt to get the man’s attention.

“Only a fool would risk his life and the lives of his friends to sneak around the palace in broad daylight.”

“Would you rather I had done it under the cover of night?”

Athos pushed the arm he held violently as he stood and turned his back. “I would prefer you not act irrationally at all!” He swung back around, glaring at the man who had placed all their lives in jeopardy for his own selfish gains.

“Is it irrational to want to hold your own child in your arms?” Aramis asked. His voice held a deep despair, a timbre of defeat that set Athos’ nerves on edge. “Is it irrational to want to feel his sweet breath on your cheek? See his eyes gaze upon you?”

“In this case, yes.”

Aramis finally looked up and Athos’ ire cooled at the anguish in the dark eyes.

“I don’t know how to do this, my friend.” Aramis shook his head and dropped his gaze back to the floor. “I cannot harden my heart as easily as you.”

Athos paused, accepting the truth of the statement. When he had fled La Fere, he had steeled himself against ever allowing anyone close enough to hurt him ever again. It had been relatively easy for him, having been raised to hide his emotions and keep himself protected at all times.

But Aramis could no more do that than the sun could forget to rise. He was a creature of emotion, a man who gave his whole heart, someone who believed in the sanctity of love despite the risks. He had never been taught to protect himself. He had only been taught to love. It brought him great joy, occasionally pain, but his heart was always filled with hope, a bliss he eagerly shared with all who surrounded him.

But this time, there was no hope, and he had to find a way to accept it -- even if it shattered him into pieces.

“Aramis,” Athos kneeled before him again and placed a hand on his friend’s leg. He could feel the muscles beneath his palm trembling but was at a loss as to how to help. “There is nothing to be done. You can’t go on like this. We can’t go on like this. There is no choice. You must forget about the Dauphin and the Queen. They are not yours and never can be. I’m sorry. But that is the truth.”

Aramis nodded and Athos’ chest ached dully at the tear that fell from the bowed head.

“I know.”

Sighing, the older man stood. “We’ll expect you at muster in the morning,” he said evenly. “I will not be able to cover for you with the Captain any longer.” It pained him greatly to threaten his friend like this, but it was for his own good. He only hoped the ultimatum would be enough to push him past his grief.

“I understand.”

Athos slowly made his way to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch.

“I’m sorry, Aramis.” He didn’t wait for an answer and stepped outside, closing the door firmly behind him.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Morning dawned bleak and damp, a light drizzle falling, creating a thin layer of mud of the ground. Most of the men were huddled together, groups speaking quietly or simply standing quietly, still half asleep, waiting for Tréville to hand down their assignments for the day.

Athos approached their usual table, settling his hat on his head to protect his face from the spitting rain. Porthos and d’Artagnan were already present, the former scraping the remains of his breakfast from the bowl with a slice of bread, while d’Artagnan sat huddled in his cloak, one arm on the table supporting his head.

“I see our friend has not reported for duty as yet,” the older man observed. He didn’t bother to hide his frustration nor his disappointment in the marksman’s truancy.

“He’s still got a bit of time,” Porthos set the bowl down and licked his fingers clean. “Don’t give up on ‘im just yet.”

“Did you speak with him last night?”

Porthos shook his head. “I knocked on his door when we returned from escortin’ Madame Bonacieux, but there wasn’t an answer. I was hopin’ he’d finally got some sleep, but…” The big man shrugged his shoulders, his eyes shifting to the barracks as if he could will their comrade to appear.

Athos placed a hand on Porthos’ shoulder. “We cannot help him if he doesn’t want to be helped,” he reasoned.

Porthos nodded reluctantly. 

The men in the courtyard stirred as the Captain stepped out of his office and onto the landing above. Quickly and concisely he relayed his orders and the Musketeers he named dispersed to attend to their duties. The rest of the men moved toward the training areas to work on their skills until they were needed elsewhere.

Tréville looked down at the three men still seated at the table with an expression of remorse and motioned for them to join him in his office. Athos frowned, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“What do you suppose that look was for?” Porthos asked as he pushed himself from the bench. He leaned over and swatted at d’Artagnan’s arm, nearly causing the drowsy young man’s head to hit the table.

“Whatever it is,” Athos sighed. “I don’t believe we’re going to like it.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“Aramis is gone.” Tréville didn’t waste any time, bluntly explaining the reason he had called them to his office.

“Gone where?” d’Artagnan asked, his eyes swiveling to take in the twin looks of alarm on his companions’ faces.

“He didn’t say,” Tréville continued. He picked up a familiar leather pauldron and held it out to Athos, his face grim. “He came to me late last night, he was extremely distressed. I tried to talk sense to him but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to listen. He resigned his commission, effective immediately.”

Athos reached out and took the pauldron, closing his eyes, his mouth in a tight line.

“He didn’t say anything?” Porthos asked. “No indication where he was headin’ off to?”

Tréville shook his head, his disappointment obvious. “He said he could see no other way. He wouldn’t explain and I couldn’t dissuade him. He asked me to refrain from telling you until this morning. I’m sorry.”

“That idiot,” Porthos growled. “When I find him –“

“The captain just said he gave no indication as to his destination,” Athos said evenly. “It is possible he is no longer in Paris.”

“Then I’ll track ‘im down,” the big man swore. His eyes smoldered with anger and Athos knew better than to argue with him when his mind was set.

“I’ll go with him.” D’Artagnan offered.

“I hardly think the captain can excuse us all to bring back our stray,” Athos reasoned, looking to Tréville for confirmation. The captain reluctantly nodded agreement. 

“I can spare one of you, but to allow all three of you to go would severely deplete our manpower. With Aramis gone, we’re already down one good man.”

Athos set the leather pauldron back on the desk and turned to Porthos, placing a hand on his friends arm. He could feel the tense muscles beneath his palm and knew that there was little that would stop the man from finding their forlorn comrade.

“You know Aramis better than anyone. Where would he go if he believed everything lost?”

Porthos sighed and tilted his head, his eyes on the ceiling as if the answer would be written above.

“The church?” Tréville proposed.

It was a known fact that Aramis was deeply religious and often sought comfort within the solace of the church. It was as good a guess as any. Athos looked to Porthos for confirmation, but the big man was shaking his head slowly.

“Not one in Paris.” He shifted his gaze and Athos could read the frustration in his eyes.

“He asked the Captain not to inform us of his departure until morning,” Athos conceded.

“Give him time for distance,” Porthos agreed. “He’s not in Paris.”

“I’d go home,” d’Artagnan offered. “To Gascony. If I thought all I’d come to know and love was no more, it’s the only place I’d consider.”

“The lad could be right,” Porthos said thoughtfully. “Aramis would want to get as far from here as possible.” He turned to Tréville, a look of hope on his face. “Aramis is from a village on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea, near the Spanish border. Do you know the name?”

Tréville held up a hand and crossed to his bureau. He opened the cabinet and ruffled through a stack of scrolls, finally pulling one from pile. He quickly scanned the parchment, his finger tapping on one entry near the top.

“I keep a list of all next of kin,” he explained, not needing to clarify his reasoning. Being a Musketeer was a dangerous profession and knowing who to inform if the worst should happen was one of the things a good commander would consider essential. “Aramis hails from the town of Perpignan in the Roussillion Province.” He rolled the scroll and returned his attention to the men across the room.

“I’m not going to ask about whatever it is you’re not willing to talk about, but I’m not about to let one of my best men go without a fight.” He sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms, his eyes raking over the three men before him. “Go,” he said, his gaze resting on Porthos. “Find him. And if you can, bring him back.”

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Where the Heart Is – Chapter 3

Three days in the saddle was enough to make any man weary and irritable, and Porthos found he was no exception. He had asked around the villages and towns he’d stopped in for food and water, relieved to find a man fitting Aramis’ description had passed through a few of them not a day before him. Knowing he was on the right trail had buoyed his spirits, believing if he could find his friend he would be able to talk some sense into him.

As he approached the dwelling on the bluff, he heaved a sigh of relief, praying he had finally come to the end of his search. The house was a long, rambling structure made of pale orange bricks with a solid roof of dark tiles. The open windows and doors had no coverings, allowing the fresh sea breeze to waft through the residence.

As he pulled his exhausted mount to a stop near the wooden trough alongside the building, a tall, thin woman stepped into view, stopping just outside the arched entrance. Porthos dismounted with a groan, stretching his sore back as he tied the horse’s reins to the post next to the trough. He turned to find the woman watching him curiously, no fear showing on her weathered face.

He took a few steps closer to the house, his eyes roaming the area, always alert for potential threats. As he approached the wide porch leading to the door, he stopped and bowed, smiling cordially.

“Madame,” he called in greeting. “Would this be the home of the distiller of fine spirits, Robert d’Herblay?”

“It would be,” she responded, stepping away from the doorway. “What business would you have with my husband?”

“Ah, Madame d’Herblay. My name is Porthos du Vallon. I have traveled from Paris in the hopes you may help me find someone very dear to me.”

Madame d’Herblay narrowed her eyes as she studied the man before her. “From Paris, you say?” At Porthos’ nod she crossed the small porch and came to stand on the steps directly in front of him. “What makes you think my husband can help you?”

Porthos sighed and wiped a hand across his face. It was warmer here than it had been in the city. Although the breeze from the coast was mercifully cool, the sun beat down upon his leather doublet and he could feel his shirt sticking to his body like a second skin.

“I was told a man fitting my friend’s description was seen heading this direction. I have inquired at every dwelling I have passed and was told he was most likely headed here.” He took his hat from his head, squinting in the bright sun, his fatigue allowing his desperation to show. “I pray they were correct or else I have nowhere else to search.”

“Your friend. What is his name?”

“Aramis.” He spoke the name with reverence, his fondness for his missing comrade evident. 

To his surprise, the madame smiled. “Aramis,” she repeated, drawing the name out as if she was contemplating the taste of it on her tongue. “Yes,” she said after a few moments. “It is fitting.”

Maybe it was the heat finally getting to him, or maybe he was too exhausted to grasp her meaning, but Porthos found himself at a loss to understand.

“I’m sorry?”

The woman laughed and stepped down to the ground, holding out a hand to the worn-out Musketeer. “I apologize, Monsieur du Vallon. I hope you will forgive the curiosity of an old woman.”

She smiled and he didn’t believe her much older than him. Her dark eyes were kind and her sun-kissed skin was smooth except for the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight knot, but somehow, on her, it did not look severe so much as it enhanced her high cheekbones. She looked like a woman of fine breeding, despite the plain dress and lack of jewelry, and Porthos found himself very comfortable in her presence.

“My friend –“

“Aramis,” she interrupted with a smile. “He is here. He arrived just yesterday.”

Porthos almost sagged in relief. “Where is he? I need to talk to him.”

Madame d’Herblay patted his arm and began to pull him toward the cool shade of the house. “All in good time. He is safe for now and you are in need of rest. Come, please.”

Porthos found himself powerless to refuse her request. He allowed her to guide him to a sturdy looking chair at the head of a large polished table made of a light colored wood he did not recognize. The moment he sat down, he felt the cool air against his skin, causing him to shiver in delight. Madame d’Herbaly disappeared through a wide doorway returning moments later with a pitcher and goblet filled with cool, clear water.

“I would offer you wine, but I believe this would be more refreshing after your long journey.”

Porthos drained the glass, letting the sweet relief wash over him. She smiled indulgently and refilled the cup from the pitcher then sat down to his left, turning her body to face him.

“Welcome, Porthos du Vallon. I am Madame d’Herblay. You may call me Odette.” 

He nodded at the formal introduction. “I would not presume, Madame –“

“You would presume nothing. You are a friend of René’s. That makes you family.”

“René?”

Odette laughed, the sound bringing a smile to Porthos’ face.

“I suppose he hasn’t gone by that name since he left here long, long ago.”

“René,” Porthos repeated in the same manner Odette had contemplated the name Aramis moments before.

“René d’Herblay,” she confirmed. “My husband’s younger brother.”

So he had come home, Porthos mused. He would have to let d’Artagnan know he’d been right.

“You said he arrived yesterday?” Porthos felt the fatigue that had blanketed him beginning to lift with the thought of finally seeing his friend. “Was he all right?”

Odette sobered. “He was not injured, but I could tell he was in pain. I tried to talk to him, but he refused to confide in me.” She put a hand to her chest, her eyes showing the sorrow she felt at the memory. “I haven’t seen him this distraught since he lost his lovely Isabelle.” She looked up, a sliver of hope in her eyes. “Tell me, Porthos. Did he ever find her?”

Porthos nodded, his eyes dropping to the cup in his hand. “Aye, he did. About a year ago. She died in his arms. He hasn’t forgiven himself yet for not being able to protect her.”

“The poor dear. I know how much he loved her. Is that what burdens him now?”

Porthos shook hi head. If Aramis hadn’t confided in her, he certainly couldn’t share the true reason for his current frame of mind. “He blames himself, but he’s made peace with what happened, I think. There was nothing he could’ve done.”

“Then it’s something else,” Odette pressed. “Something that has broken his spirit as well as his heart. Otherwise he would never have returned to this house.”

“But this is his home,” Porthos argued. “Why would he not feel he could return?”

Odette sighed, dropping her hands to her lap and closing her eyes. “It is something that happened long ago. When René was young.” 

Porthos leaned forward, his interest piqued. “I thought he left to search for Isabelle?”

“He did,” Odette confirmed. “But that wasn’t the only reason. Isabelle loved René with all her heart. She was a good girl and, as you’ve probably discovered, René was a bit of a scoundrel.” Odette smiled affectionately and Porthos couldn’t help but return it.

“Now I know we’re talkin’ about the same man.”

She laughed and slapped his arm before continuing. “Back then, it created quite a stir when Isabelle became pregnant. Even though René was agreeable to marriage, her brother, Étienne, took it as quite an affront to the family honor. He and some of his friends attacked René when he was alone, beat him badly. So, as soon as he could move about, René began to train with the finest swordsman in the village.” She looked at him, pride shining in her eyes. “Apparently he was a very good student. A while later, after Isabelle had lost the baby and disappeared, René confronted Étienne and challenged him to a duel. He won easily, but Isabelle’s father was outraged and turned René over to the magistrate. He left before they could arrest him, to find her and to find a place for himself.”

“So when he arrived in Paris, he didn’t feel safe using his own name?” Porthos had understood why Athos had avoided using his name and title, but he’d never considered Aramis had a reason just as dark.

Odette shrugged. “I’m sure he believed he was protecting Robert and I.” She smiled sadly. “Most assumed he ran because of what he’d done, but I knew he was running to something. Just what that was, even he didn’t know.” She looked up and leaned forward, taking Porthos’ large hand in both of her own. “I believe he’s found what he was seeking with you and the Musketeers.”

“How did you know I was a Musketeer?”

She patted his hand and looked at him as if he’d just asked the color of the sky.

“Why Porthos, what else would you be?”

“That sounds like something Aramis would say.”

“Aramis,” she said wistfully. “The name suits him. René always was quite the romantic at heart. But I fear that heart has been damaged.”

Porthos nodded, weariness settling back over him like a shroud. “He’s suffering. He’s resigned his commission and I’m not sure I can talk him into coming back.”

“When Isabelle left, I was afraid René would give up,” Odette confessed. “But he didn’t. He found the courage and the fortitude to fight back, to look his adversaries in the eye and to go after what he wanted. His heart may be heavy at the moment, but I know he will find that strength inside himself again.”

“I don’t know,” Porthos sighed. “He’s been through much in his service to the King, but I’m afraid this time there’s nothing that can ease his pain. Aramis loves fully. It’s one of the things I admire about him.”

Odette sat back, her dark eyes unfocused, a tender smile lifting her lips.

“You love him very much,” Porthos observed. He was glad his friend had someone who cared so much for him. Aramis had never mentioned his family, and he’d obviously cut himself off to keep them safe, but it was apparent from the affection shining in Odette’s eyes that she’d never forgotten him and never stopped caring for him all these years.

“René – Aramis,” she corrected herself, “is very easy to love. But that is something you already know.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos was not a man unacquainted with guilt. He’d lived with it every day since he’d found his brother murdered by his wife’s hand, and it had fed his compulsion to drown himself in wine and numb the memories that encumbered him. So the fact he felt responsible for Aramis’ decision to leave was not a surprise, but his sorrow at his culpability had caught him unaware. 

It had been three days since Porthos left the garrison, his mission to find their comrade and somehow persuade him to return to the fold seemingly daunting. But Athos had faith that if anyone could get through to Aramis, it would be Porthos. The big man gave the marksman a sense of balance – something Athos knew he was entirely incapable of providing. He had often wondered why he and Aramis felt out of sorts when Porthos was not around and had finally concluded that, despite their glaring differences in how they presented themselves to the world, they were quite a bit alike.

They both held their secrets close, not allowing anyone to truly see the real fear they hid. Athos feared allowing people close enough to hurt him, while Aramis feared being left alone. Two sides of the same coin. Porthos was the stability they both relied on, giving them a sense of security without intruding on their autonomy. It was an delicate line, but one Porthos managed to walk with ease.

As he patrolled the grounds of the Louvre, Athos kept an eye on the gates, hoping for a message from his friends. He knew it would take Porthos at least this long to even make his way as far as Perpignan let alone find their errant comrade – and that was assuming d’Artagnan’s notion that Aramis had gone home was even correct. For all they knew, Porthos’ mission could be one of folly and it was entirely possible they would never be able to locate Aramis unless he returned of his own accord.

As if thinking his name had summoned the man himself, Athos looked up to see d’Artagnan darting toward him, an expression of dismay on his face.

“Athos!” the young man came to a stop directly in front of him, breathing hard, his cheeks flush from exertion.

“d’Artagnan, it is much too warm to be exerting yourself so. Take a moment to catch your breath.”

The Gascon shook his head and pulled on Athos arm. “No time,” he panted. “Something has happened. The Dauphin –“

Alarmed, Athos grabbed the young man’s shoulders. “What about the Dauphin?”

“He’s missing,” d’Artagnan said bluntly. “Feared kidnapped. Tréville sent me for you.”

Before the younger man had finished, Athos was moving toward the palace entrance at a dead run, the sounds of d’Artagnan’s footsteps close behind. Just inside the main hall. Captain Tréville was waiting, Cardinal Mazarin by his side.

“d’Artagnan said the Dauphin is missing?” he asked, his eyes on Tréville. The Captain’s expression told him all he needed to know.

Tréville nodded and signaled for the two men to follow him up the sweeping staircase. “We were just alerted. Madame Bonicieux had gone to retrieve the baby for the Queen. When she arrived in the nursery, he was not in his crib. None of the other ladies were in the room, the nurse on duty having stepped out to deliver a bundle to the laundry.”

“Did the guards hear or see anything?”

There were two guards stationed at the doors to the Queens apartments, but none inside near the nursery. Although anyone trying to see the Dauphin would have to pass through those doors, it was conceivable someone could’ve found a way past them.

Tréville shook his head. “The guards claim nobody passed through the doors except Madame Bonicieux. She’s in here.”

Tréville opened a door and led them inside to the Queen’s private apartments. Anne was perched on the edge of a gold upholstered setté, her eyes unfocused, her face a study of fear and dismay. Madame Bonicieux sat beside her, their hands clasped together. Athos had been pleased to hear the Queen had requested Constance to become her confidante, knowing the young woman had been in an untenable position, forced to remain by her husband’s side out of guilt instead of being allowed to find happiness with d’Artagnan. Constance had proven herself an honorable woman, and Athos knew her appointment to the Queen’s court had gone a long way to ease her misery over the choice she had been forced to make. He wasn’t sure who had brought Constance to the Queen’s attention, but he suspected Aramis had seen an opportunity for both women to find something they were in need of and had somehow been instrumental in orchestrating the arrangement.

The two women looked up when he entered the room, their faces showing their relief at his arrival.

“Your Majesty,” Athos crossed to the setté and bowed formally, letting his voice soften in deference to the woman’s obvious distress. “We will find him. You must remain strong.”

Anne grabbed for his hand, which he took in both of his, dropping to a knee before her.

“Athos.” She looked behind him and the Musketeer could see the disappointment in her eyes when only d’Artagnan and Tréville stepped forward. She quickly schooled her expression and turned back to him, inquiring with a look what she couldn’t ask aloud.

“Porthos and Aramis have been called away,” he responded regretfully, knowing the words would increase her despair. “But I assure you, d’Artagnan, Captain Tréville and I will not rest until the child is found and returned safely to your arms.”

She smiled tremulously. “Thank you. I have the utmost confidence in you.”

Athos rose and stepped away, motioning for Constance to meet him over by the window, out of the Queen’s audible range. Constance whispered something to Anne then stood, only to be pushed aside by Cardinal Mazarin who hastily took over the comfort of the distraught Queen.

Athos bristled at the man’s audacity, but knew it would be better to speak with Constance without upsetting the Queen further.

“What happened?” he asked abruptly when they were alone.

“I don’t know,” she said, wringing her hands, her attention on her distressed mistress. “I went to get the baby this morning and he wasn’t there. No one was. The room was empty.”

“And you saw nobody enter or leave?”

She shook her head. “No. Nobody.” She frowned, her eyes darting to the nursery doors. “Unless…”

“What?” Athos asked, seeing the look of trepidation on the young woman’s face.

Without a word, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the nursery. Inside, they found themselves alone, the crib standing ominously empty in the center of the room. Athos followed her across the thick Persian rug to the wall on the far side where she stopped in front of a heavy drapery adorning the wall.

“Maybe nobody saw anyone enter because they didn’t enter through the doors,” she explained as she drew back the material and pressed against the panel beneath. To Athos’ surprise the wall gave to the pressure and the panel moved to reveal an opening leading to a dark passage.

Athos advanced and leaned into the passage, his eyes straining in an effort to see through the inky blackness.

“Where does it lead?”

Constance shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Athos stepped back and turned to her. “Who else knows about this?”

Again, the young woman shrugged. “I don’t know. I just learned of it a few days ago. I suppose the Queen knows, and perhaps some of the servants. And…” her eyes fluttered to Athos regretfully, “Aramis,” she finished in a subdued voice.

Athos’ eyes widened in astonishment. “Aramis?”

Constance nodded, sighing deeply. “That was how I learned of it. I told you I found him here the other day? That passage was how he found his way here without alerting the guards.”

Athos closed his eyes and shook his head, beginning to realize how reckless his friend had become.

“You don’t think Aramis --”

“No.” His response was immediate and firm. “Aramis would never put the Dauphin in danger.”

Constance accepted his statement without hesitation.

“We must find out who else knew of this passage and ascertain if anyone of them is missing.” He touched Constance’s arm to guide her back toward the doors. “For now, I need you to stay close to the Queen. Do not leave her alone for a moment.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The Queen retired to her chambers after Athos had assured her they would keep her informed of all developments. A list of names was provided and the Musketeers began the grueling task of questioning everyone within the palace who would have leave to be near the Dauphin. Even if the kidnapper had used the secret passage, it was likely someone would have seen a stranger with the baby and raised an alarm as they made their escape. It seemed more probable the kidnapper was someone who belonged within the palace, who would not cause concern if seen with the child, so they inquired after anyone who may have been acting out of sorts or suspicious while on duty.

By the time night had fallen, the men had a theory of what may have happened.

Athos returned to the Queen’s chambers, intending to make good on his promise to her. She welcomed him, eager to hear news of her child. At his urging, she dismissed her attendants so that they could speak in private.

“Have you found him?”

Athos took her hand and directed her to the same setté she had occupied earlier. “Not yet, Your Majesty, but we have a good idea of where to look.”

He sat beside her and she grasped his hand. “Athos, please. Tell me what you’ve found.”

“We questioned everyone and it seems one of the wetnurses, a Madame Cornette, has not yet reported for duty today.”

Anne nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, Marie. Do you believe she had something to do with this?”

Athos nodded. “According to some of the other nurses, she was distraught, though none seem to know why.”

“I’m sure Marie would never harm him,” Anne was adamant. “She is so loving and gentle with him.”

“Yet she would be able to move about the palace and would not arouse suspicion if seen with the Dauphin.” Athos countered. “We are leaving to speak with Madame Cornette immediately. If she was involved, she will tell us where the Dauphin is being kept.”

Anne dropped her head, her worry and exhaustion apparent in the set of her shoulders. “I wish Aramis were here.” She looked back to him imploringly. “Where is he? He must’ve heard by now. Why isn’t he here?”

Athos hesitated, not wanting to upset her further. “Aramis… has left Paris.”

At her stricken look, he reluctantly continued. “He resigned his commission four days ago. Porthos went after him, but…”

“This is my fault,” she whispered.

“No, Your Majesty. Aramis is distraught, yes, but he felt this was best for all concerned.”

She shook her head, her eyes lost and unfocused. “I demanded he stay away. I told him it would be better if he…,” she looked back to Athos, her face filled with remorse. “Oh, Athos, what have I done?”

“What you felt you had to do, Your Majesty. What needed to be done.”

Anne stood and took a few steps away. “No. I reacted from fear, I didn’t consider what it would do to him.”

Athos watched her carefully. “Fear? Of what? Of whom?”

She paused as if considering her answer before turning and looking him in the eye. “Cardinal Mazarin made… insinuations.” 

Athos abruptly came to his feet. “What kind of insinuations?”

Anne took a deep breath and looked down at her clasped hands. “He intimated he knew about…” She glanced at him from under lowered lashes, the implication clear.

Athos sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “I see.” He held out a hand and deferentially placed it on her clasped fists, squeezing gently. “There is nothing Mazarin could know,” he assured her, putting all the confidence he could marshal into the statement. “He may have suspicions – the two of you have skirted the edge of discretion as of late – but there is nothing that can be proven. I doubt the King would accept such an accusation based merely on the word of a man who was not even in Paris at the time.”

She bristled at his thinly veiled reproach but did not dispute the point. After a moment she looked up, her eyes filled with hope. “Perhaps you are right.”

Athos smiled. “I am.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Aramis would never allow harm to come to either of you. You must know this.”

“He promised to protect our son. But he is not here.” The fear had returned to her voice and Athos found himself wanting nothing more than to dispel it.

“He is confused,” Athos chose his words carefully, not wanting her to shoulder any more blame than she already carried. “And he is hurting. But I know him and I can assure you, he would never break his promise to you.” He silently cursed his friend for putting him in this position. “In his absence, that promise becomes mine.”

Anne smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Athos.”

The Musketeer nodded and stepped away, bowing formally. “Fear not, Your Majesty. We will return them both to you. You have my word.” 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Cardinal Mazarin sat back in his chair, scowling at the door through which Captain Tréville had just left. The Musketeers had been thorough in their investigation – much more thorough than he had anticipated. They were currently only working from theory, but the fact they had discovered the name of the wetnurse who had been tasked with absconding with the child and were currently on their way to question the woman was a hindrance he could not allow.

“Apparently Musketeers are more competent than you expected.”

Mazarin pushed from his desk and rounded on Milady, causing her to jump back at the sudden movement.

“They are… inconvenient.”

Regaining her composure, she approached the desk and perched on the edge. “What do you plan to do?”

Mazarin began to pace, one hand idly stroking his beard as he moved. “Is the child secure?”

Milady nodded. “I have instructed the peasant to hide them in an old farmhouse miles outside Paris. They will not be detected there.”

“Good,” Mazarin continued to pace, his voice subdued as he contemplated. “I will send Rochefort and the Red Guard to retrieve the Dauphin before the Musketeers can ascertain his location. Once we have the child, both the wetnurse and her husband will be dealt with accordingly.”

“You mean killed,” Milady clarified.

Mazarin merely grunted in reply.

Milady frowned, watching him as he moved back and forth across the stone floor. “Why bother to take the child in the first place if we are only to return him so soon?”

Mazarin approached, smiling as he saw her tense, her fear of him sending a thrill down his spine. He ran the back of his hand slowly down her cheek. “It is but one more way I shall gain the King’s trust, my dear. Eliminating Richelieu was only the first step. Louis still mourns the loss of his mentor. I must make him see me as a suitable replacement for his confidence. Once he sees how my Red Guard saved the prince, he will begin to rely on me and trust me more and more until he is solely reliant upon my counsel.”

“So this has all been a ruse?”

He held up a bony finger. “A strategic element in an intricate plan. One that, I assure you, will come to fruition.”

She pursed her lips and returned his gaze, a brow arched in question. “And when will I be enlightened of this plan?”

“All in good time, Milady. All in good time.”

TBC


	4. chapter 4

Where the Heart Is – Chapter 4

D’Artagnan waited for Athos outside the Queen’s apartments. The older Musketeer had suggested he speak to her alone in order to avoid upsetting her further and d’Artagnan had reluctantly agreed. He was thankful for his mentor’s insistence moments later though when Constance appeared in the hallway carrying a tray of tea and pastries.

“D’Artagnan,” she greeted. They were still uncomfortable around each other, but d’Artagnan couldn’t help but let his feeling for her shine in his eyes. 

“Constance,” he returned. “Athos is speaking with the Queen, he asked for a moment of privacy to reassure her.”

Constance nodded, understanding. “Of course.” She motioned toward the assorted pastries on the tray. “I was hoping to get her to eat something. She’s been very upset.”

“Perfectly understandable,” the young man responded. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“Have you been able to find anything that could help locate the baby?” Though Constance had been the one to discover the Dauphin missing, both Athos and Tréville considering her above suspicion. After speaking with her in the nursery, she had been excused to be with the Queen, and they had not had the opportunity to converse with her since.

“We think so. One of the wetnurses seems to have disappeared. We think she may have been the one to take the Dauphin.”

Constance frowned. “Really? Who?”

“A Madame Cornette.”

Constance sputtered in offense. “You can’t be serious. Marie wouldn’t harm a fly. She just lost a baby of her own, she would never do anything to–“

D’Artagnan held up a hand to stop her. “Did you say she lost a child of her own?”

Constance nodded. “It was a few months ago. It wasn’t her first, from what she’s told me, and she seemed to have accepted it as well as could be expected. She loves the prince. She would never harm him. I can’t believe she would be involved any more than Aramis.”

It was d’Artagnan’s turn to frown. “Aramis? Why would you think Aramis would have anything to do with kidnapping the Dauphin?”

“I did find him in the nursery,” she reminded him. “He was acting… strange.”

D’Artagnan bristled at the accusation. “Aramis has been… not himself as of late,” he admitted, “but if you believe he would put the child – any child – in danger, you know nothing about him.”

Constance looked as if she wanted to argue the point, but suddenly glanced away, dropping her eyes to the tray in her hands. Her cheeks flushed and she had the grace to look ashamed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t believe Marie would do anything like this either. She’s such a timid soul.”

“I’m sorry,” d’Artagnan lowered his voice and took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to get angry, it’s just –“

“A question of loyalty?”

He smiled, remembering a time long ago when they’d had a similar conversation. “Something like that.”

“So what will you do now?”

“We will go speak with Madame Cornette. If we find evidence of her involvement, we will persuade her to tell us what she has done with the baby.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

D’Artagnan opened his mouth to respond, but closed it and shrugged. It seemed likely the woman was the one who abducted the child, but if not, they would have to start again and the thought left his heart cold with fear. He doubted they had enough time for that luxury. 

“Please be gentle with her,” Constance pleaded. “I think her husband is unkind to her, beats her. And with the loss of her child, her duties here, with the Dauphin, are all she lives for.”

D’Artagnan smiled and cupped a hand on her cheek, his eyes glowing with affection. “We will be gentle. I promise.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Odette had talked Porthos into washing up and resting for bit, assuring him Aramis was not in any danger and would be along later. Despite his desire to see his friend, he knew his exhaustion would probably get the better of him and he agreed it would be best to get some sleep so as to be prepared to handle the situation. Porthos knew Aramis was not thinking clearly, his despair and heartache clouding his ability to see that he was not alone. When Anne had pushed him away, he had still been in pain from the wound sustained in the attack and his defenses had been down. Being near her and the Dauphin for the short time he’d been recuperating only to lose them so suddenly had been like a musket ball to the heart. He’d been unable to cope, retreating into himself, allowing the grief to overwhelm him.

Athos’ ultimatum after Constance had left the garrison that night had been the wrong approach – one Porthos knew the older Musketeer regretted deeply. Neither of them had known the depths to which their friend was mourning the loss of what he held most dear, not understanding that he’d put all his hopes and dreams for the future in that tiny, little child.

Voices outside the small room Odette had shown him to drew his attention, and he sat up on the narrow bed, listening as the discussion became heated. He recognized Odette’s soft alto as she argued patiently with a man whom Porthos assumed to be her husband, Aramis’ brother.

They seemed to be arguing about him; Robert being unhappy a stranger had deigned to impose upon them as his brother had.

“King’s Musketeers, this close to the border. All they’ll bring is trouble and you know it!”

“Robert,” Odette soothed. “This is René’s home. You know he would never cause us any trouble. He’s hurting and he needs a place he feels safe. Where else would he go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Robert snapped back angrily, causing Porthos to growl under his breath. It was obvious Aramis’ brother felt little affection for him, and the thought of anyone holding that kind of animosity toward his friend – especially his only living family – made Porthos’ hackles rise.

“You’ve harbored this resentment against René for too long, Robert,” Odette’s voice took on a sharp edge. “You got what you wanted. You inherited the distillery and you’ve made a name for yourself. Can’t you let the rest go?”

“He disgraced our family name,” Robert said heatedly. “My father died with his friends whispering behind his back. They were far too lenient with René all his life. Always letting him get away with things, never holding him accountable for his actions. Well, I won’t make the same mistake. He doesn’t belong here anymore. I will convince him to return to the church where he should have stayed all along.”

“Robert, that was your desire, not his.”

“It was my father’s wish!”

“Only because you planted the seed,” Odette argued.

It was obvious Robert was of no mind to listen. “Fine! If a life in service to God is not good enough for him, then let him go back to Paris and live his life of adventure and violence. As long as he never returns!”

Porthos jumped as a loud crash echoed through the house and angry footsteps stomped from the room. After a few moments he cautiously opened the door to see Odette kneeling on the floor, picking up the shattered remains of the water pitcher she’d poured from earlier.

He approached silently and knelt beside her, helping to remove the remaining shards from the stone floor. She didn’t look up, but he could see she’d been crying and his hand moved of its own accord to her weathered face as he brushed away a tear from her cheek.

“Are you all right?”

She smiled sadly and patted his hand, holding it to her skin briefly before letting it go.

“Of course,” she responded. “Robert is a hard man to know, but he is not a cruel one. He has worked very hard for what he has. He’s afraid of it being taken from him.”

“By his brother?”

She snorted a laugh, more melancholy than amused. “Robert spent his entire life trying to live up to his father’s expectations. He is much older than René. When René was born, his mother was so thrilled she doted upon him. Robert,” she shrugged helplessly, “he was jealous of how easily René could work his way into people’s hearts.” She smiled devilishly. “He was a mischievous child. Always up to something, but one smile and he could turn anyone’s anger. It was hard to be annoyed with him for long.”

“He can still do that,” Porthos admitted with a grin. “Half the time I want to hit him and he just grins, and I can’t help but grin back. It’s infectious.”

Odette laughed, her earlier gloom fading. “Seems we are both vulnerable to his charms.”

Porthos chuckled. “So it would seem.” He stared out the door into the sky, brilliant above the azure waters of the sea. “Robert doesn’t seem quite as disposed.”

“Robert loves his brother,” Odette said with an air of certainty. “He just can’t see past the differences that separate them.” She turned back to Porthos, apprehension in her eyes. “It was Robert’s idea for René to join the seminary. He saw it as a way to control him and pushed his father into accepting it as a proper vocation for his younger son. René did try for his father’s sake, but after Isabelle…” Odette sighed. “He is right about one thing. It isn’t safe for René here – nor you.”

Porthos frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The man he dueled with, Isabelle’s brother, he left soon after René. No one knew what had become of him, but he has returned… from Spain. He has no love for the King and his hatred of René has grown over the years. I’m afraid if he learns René has come back – and that he is a Musketeer – he will try to take revenge on him for what happened. And with René not himself right now…”

“Aramis’ mind may be in turmoil, but he is more than capable of defending himself. He’s a good soldier – the best I’ve ever had the honor of standing with – and he has spilled blood, but never needlessly or wantonly. He would not bring dishonor to your home,” Porthos countered.

“Unfortunately there are those who would not give him the choice,” Odette said sadly. She grasped Porthos’ arm, her voice pleading. “You must take him back to Paris, Porthos. Please. I could not bear to see anything happen to him.”

“If this Étienne comes for him, Aramis will not run.” At Odette’s expression of fear, he sighed and nodded his acquiescence. “But I will do everything I can to convince him to leave with me before it can come to that.”

Odette smiled and squeezed Porthos’ arm affectionately. “Thank you. René is truly blessed to have a friend such as you.” 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“I don’t think anyone is home,” d’Artagnan observed as he pounded on the door of the small house for the third time. They had ridden straight from the Palace to the poor side of the city where Marie Cornette and her husband, a laborer, resided in a tiny hovel crowded by more shabby huts on either side. The stench of the district was enough to make the bile rise in the back of his throat and he swallowed thickly, thankful they had not had time for supper beforehand.

“Perhaps we should take a look inside?” Athos suggested.

D’Artagnan shrugged and raised a boot to kick at the door but was thwarted by a woman poking her head out through the warped door of the hut next door.

“If you’re looking for Cornette, he ain’t been around.”

Athos turned to the woman and bowed formally, ever the gentleman. “We are looking for Madame Cornette,” he informed her. “She was to report for duty at the Palace this morning and did not arrive. We have been sent by the Queen to find her.”

Impressed, the woman tucked a ratty piece of hair behind her ear. “The Queen you say? I knew Marie had found employment, but I had no idea it was with the Queen herself.”

D’Aragnan stepped forward and smiled. “Her Majesty is very concerned. Have you seen Madame Cornette today at all?”

The woman planted a hand on her bony hip and tilted her head in thought. “Now that you mention it, I saw her here late last night. I was surprised to see her, mind you, knowing that no good husband of ‘ers was home. She usually tried to stay out of ‘is way when he’s been drinking. A mean one, that man.”

Athos and d’Artagnan exchanged a look. 

“Do you have any idea where Madame Cornette may have gone?”

The woman shook her head. “Not a clue. But the racket that little one was making, I’m hoping it’s far away from here. I need my beauty sleep, ya know.” She smiled in what d’Artagnan guessed was supposed to be an inviting fashion, but the effect was ruined by her blackened teeth and rather pungent aroma.

“She had a child with her?” Athos voice was outwardly calm, but d’Artagnan could sense the tension rising beneath the façade. As the older man’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted, the Gascon likened him to one of the King’s bloodhounds on the scent of a stag.

The woman nodded. “Surprised me a bit. I thought she’d lost it like the others. Maybe it was just sick from birth. Must’ve recovered, huh?”

“Must have,” Athos repeated and took a step closer. “It is very important we find her, Madame. If you could give us any idea where she may have gone…”

The woman posed, thinking again, before shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe the old farm house.”

“What old farm house?”

“Her husband was a farmer. Lousy one from what I heard. When his crops failed and they lost their land, they moved into the city so he could find work – not that he ever did.” She obviously held little respect for her neighbor.

Athos stepped directly in front of her and took her filthy hand in his, making the woman stand taller. She looked at the gentleman before her with wonder, obviously not having anyone treat her with such courtesy for some time. “Madame, you have been a blessing. If I may ask one last thing? Where is this farm house?”

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Odette directed him to a large wooden building built upon a stone foundation near the edge of the bluff overlooking the sea. The floor was raised and covered with planks of oak, the wood giving the large structure a woodsy smell and Porthos found himself breathing deeply to inhale the heady scent. The oak, mixed with the salty sea breeze was warm and intoxicating and Porthos relished the clean, fresh aroma so different from the more malodorous atmosphere of Paris.

The setting sun cast long shadows inside the cavernous room where barrels of varying sizes were stacked in rows, labels distinguishing the different types of spirits held within. He’d never been near so much alcohol in his life. There was wine and brandy, along with barrels labeled genievre, a spirit made of grain and juniper berries that Porthos had heard of but never tasted. Perhaps he could talk Aramis into bringing a few samples back with them. That would surely go a long way in soothing Athos’ indignation.

A thud from behind the first row caught his attention and he rounded the aisle, surprised to see Aramis struggling to heft a large oak barrel onto a shelf. Porthos crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the post at the end of the row. 

“That’s probably the hardest I’ve ever seen you work,” he grinned at his comrade’s look of surprise. “You should lift with your legs, ya know.”

Aramis dropped the barrel, jumping aside as the heavy oak container nearly came down on his foot. He stared at the big Musketeer for a moment as if he was looking at a mirage.

“What? No greeting for an old friend?” Porthos held his arms out to his sides, palms turned up in invitation. “After all, I did just spend three long, hard days in the saddle to find you.”

Aramis blinked and let a long breath out through his nose. He closed his eyes and dipped his head, giving it a weary shake. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Yet here I am.” Porthos had known it wouldn’t be that easy. 

Aramis dropped onto the barrel and leaned forward, his hands scrubbing at the sweat on his face. “Go home, Porthos. You don’t belong here.”

“Neither do you.”

Aramis snorted a laugh. “It would seem I don’t belong anywhere.”

Porthos sighed and shifted, taking a few steps closer to his friend. “Aramis, I know how you must feel –“

“How?” Aramis’ head came up, his eyes sparkling with anger. “How could you know anything? You and Athos think that I should be able to just carry on, forget about it all and act like everything is fine. But I can’t Porthos! I can’t forget that I have a son I will never be able to acknowledge. I can’t forget that the woman I love is out of my reach and to ever express that love would be treason and end in not only my death, but my closest friends’ as well.”

Porthos remained silent, knowing Aramis needed to vent his anger, his frustration at the injustice of his situation. So he stood there and allowed his friend to shout, taking the abuse, hoping it would lead the man to a more rational level of thought. 

“I tried, Porthos. I tried to go on as if nothing had changed, but seeing her, seeing my son, it was too much. Knowing they were right there in front of me but so far out of my reach became a torture I couldn’t continue to bear.” His voice broke and he bolted from his place on the barrel and stalked to the end of the aisle. Aramis ran trembling hands through his hair and took a deep breath. Porthos could see the tension in his friend’s shoulders and the defeat in the bow of his neck.

“But being near them has got to be better than never seeing them again.” Porthos wasn’t sure if Aramis was listening, but he continued anyway. “I never knew my father, and I only had a short time with my mother, but I would give anything to be able to see them, to know they were alive. I would think that need would be even stronger if it was your child.”

“He can never be my child.”

Porthos’ heart ached at the soft admission and he slowly walked to where his friend stood, dejected. “Maybe not out here, but in here,” he placed a hand on Aramis’ chest, over his heart, “where it really matters, he’ll always be yours.”

Aramis looked up, a sad smile on his face. “I thought that would be enough, but…”

Porthos wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Didn’t you promise the Queen you would be there to protect him? Musketeers never go back on their word.”

“That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair.”

“I just need some time to think,” Aramis whispered. “I could hardly breathe back there.”

Porthos chuckled and turned toward the open doorway. “It is easier to do that here.” He took a deep breath of the cool clean air, expanding his chest dramatically.

Aramis laughed as he’d expected and Porthos felt a shred of hope surface.

“Why all this way? You’ve never even talked about where you came from.”

Aramis shrugged and turned, leaning his back against the shelving. “I haven’t thought about it for a long time. I never considered I would come back.”

“Because of Étienne?”

Porthos expected surprise or perhaps anger that he had learned of Aramis’ secrets without his knowledge, but what he saw was raw affection. “You’ve been speaking with Odette.”

“She thinks the world of you.”

Aramis nodded, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Odette is… much too good for my brother.”

Porthos grunted his agreement. From the little he’d heard back at the house, Robert d’Herblay was not a man he was eager to be acquainted with. “She fears for you. She told me Étienne is back and has ties with the Spanish. She believes he would try to kill you out of revenge for what happened before or just for being a Musketeer.”

This did get a brief look of astonishment. “It does not surprise me Étienne would choose to side with Spain. Like me, he has Spanish blood, and his politics were always quite contrary to popular belief.” He shook his head wearily. “I do not fear Étienne. Though, if he found out what happened to Isabelle, he would most certainly seek vengeance, and I could not find it in me to blame him.”

“What happened to Isabelle is not your cross to bear.”

“I was unable to protect her. Why should I think I would be able to do any more for Anne and our son?”

Porthos placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed compassionately. “Because even if you fail, they would know you have given everything. And because they need you to.”

Aramis raised his eyes, a beseeching look in the dark depths. “You make it all sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is.” Porthos shrugged and squeezed again before letting his arm drop and moving toward the doorway. “I have to return to Paris in the morning. Captain Tréville gave me leave, but …”

“You can’t stay away forever.”

Porthos looked back over his shoulder, his voice pitched low. “Nor can you.”

“I know,” was the soft reply.

It wasn’t exactly what Porthos wanted to hear, but it was a start.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Where the Heart Is – Chapter 5

Darkness had fallen as they approached the desolate farmhouse. It was only a few miles outside Paris, but nestled back in a valley that was filled with mud and rocks. The sloping land would flood easily when the rain washed down from the hills, making farming nearly impossible. It was no wonder Cornette had failed.

The house itself was in shambles, the wood warped and splintered, the thatch roof only partially covering the structure. The surrounding land was overgrown with weeds and thistles, some grown as tall as the boarded-over windows, swaying in the faint breeze. 

Athos motioned for d’Artagnan to crouch down behind a large bush as they surveyed the dwelling. The moon was partially full and hung high in the cloudless sky, casting a silvery light over the landscape. They had left their horses some distance down the road, not wanting to draw attention to their arrival if their information proved to be correct. The safety of the Dauphin was their priority, and they would not chance his abductors being able to flee before they could guarantee his security.

“Smoke,” d’Artagnan whispered as he sniffed the air. The scent of burning wood was heavy in the night breeze and Athos nodded his acknowledgement. There was obviously someone inside. He prayed it was the woman and the baby alone. A simple extraction would be the best for all involved. If the woman’s husband was around, things could get heated and the Dauphin would be in danger. Athos wanted to avoid confrontation at all costs. He believed they could talk sense into Marie. From what Constance had told d’Artagnan, she was a good woman who had made a grievous error in judgment, but her husband would complicate matters. Complications tended to get people killed.

The sounds of hoofbeats carried in the stillness and the two Musketeers ducked back behind the bush as three riders approached the house. The men dismounted and Athos made a sound deep in his throat as he recognized the uniforms of the Red Guard.

“Red Guard?” d’Artagnan said, surprised. “How did they know to come here?”

“I would suspect the Cardinal had more information than he deigned to share.”

“The Cardinal? Why would he kidnap the Dauphin?”

“To ingratiate himself with the King when he rescued him,” Athos surmised. “I can think of no other way the Red Guard would know to come here so quickly.”

“Do you think they followed us?”

The soldiers had all dismounted and were pounding on the door of the disheveled hut. 

Athos shook his head and rose from their concealment. “No, d’Artagnan. They knew exactly where to look.” The guards, losing patience, kicked in the door and a shrill scream pierced the air. “I believe that is our invitation.”

The Musketeers quietly crossed the rocky land until they stood on either side of the open door, their backs to the splintered wood of the house. Inside, voices were shouting, and the wail of a baby forced them into action. Athos whirled to stand in the center of the doorway, d’Artagnan behind him to his right. One of the guards had his sword to the neck of a scruffy man who was bleeding from his nose while another had a firm grip on a small, frail woman who clutched a bundle tightly to her chest. A hiccupping cry was emanating from the bundle and Athos stepped forward, leveling his rapier at the guard. 

“Unhand her,” he ordered. 

The guard turned to him, surprised, and released the woman’s arm, simultaneously lunging at the Musketeer. Athos deftly sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down on the man’s arm, causing him to drop his weapon with a pained cry. Pushing the woman behind him, he turned just as the third guard leaped forward in an attempt to stab him in the back. Athos caught sight of d’Artagnan engaged with the guard who had been threatening the peasant – Madame Cornette’s husband, he presumed -- and, trusting the young man to deal with his opponent, turned his attention to his own. 

“There is no need for violence,” Athos attempted to reason with the guard. “We are both here for the same purpose.”

“I ain’t listening to any damned Musketeer,” the man growled. “We have orders to bring the child back. We’re not going to allow the likes of you to get in our way.”

Athos nodded, his face void of emotion. “As you wish.”

The fight was quick. By the time Athos had dispatched the guard, d’Artagnan was wiping his own to remove the blood. Cornette was sitting on the floor against the wall, his eyes wide, staring at the dead soldiers littering the ground. Athos motioned for d’Artagnan to take the man outside and the young Musketeer nodded, grasping the man by the arm and pulling him to his feet. Still in a daze, the man didn’t resist as d’Artagnan shoved him through the door.

Athos turned to the woman as he sheathed his rapier.

“Madame Cornette, I presume?”

Marie nodded, backing away in fear of the formidable Musketeer. Athos held up both hands in supplication.

“We mean you no harm, Madame. Our only concern is for the child.” He reached out toward the bundle she still held close to her breast, his motions passive and unthreatening. 

Marie looked down, her expression one of abject misery. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Athos didn’t know if she was speaking to him or the baby. She looked back up at him, tears falling from her eyes. “I didn’t hurt him. I would never hurt him.”

Athos nodded and took a step closer. “I understand. You care for him very much.”

She nodded, looking back down at the wriggling bundle in her arms.

“The Queen is very worried.” Athos continued in a calm voice. He slowly closed the distance between them, his eyes darting from the baby to Marie’s face, judging whether or not she was a threat to the child. “I’m sure you don’t want the Queen to worry, do you?”

Marie shook her head absently, and Athos stopped directly in front of her, his arms held out before him. 

“Madame, give me the baby.”

Her entire body seemed to deflate as her face crumbled in distress. She held out the bundle to the Musketeers awaiting arms.

A loud bang from outside rang loud in the confines of the house and both Athos and Marie jumped at the sound. Recognizing the familiar echo of gunfire, Athos quickly shoved the woman down to her knees and bolted from the house.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

At Athos’ silent command, D’Artagnan pushed Cornette from the shack, grabbing the man’s arm as he stumbled over some rocks in the courtyard. With their horses tethered further down the road, they would be forced to walk the short distance before they could head back to Paris. He pushed the man further from the house, giving Athos a bit of privacy as he tried to talk the woman into turning the baby over to his care. It was a relief to see the Dauphin had not been harmed – if the strength of the child’s lungs was any indication – and he stood tall knowing they had done their duty well.

Cornette dropped to his knees as he stumbled again, and d’Artagnan looked upon him with disdain. “Get up,” he ordered. 

“Please,” the man groveled, holding up both hands before him. “Let me explain!”

d’Artagnan rounded on him, grabbing him forcefully by the front of his shirt. “Explain? You want to explain why you and your wife took an innocent child from his home? Why you caused grief and distress to the Queen?”

“It wasn’t like that!” he cried. “We were promised a better life! She told us it was just for a few days, that nobody would be the wiser!”

“She?” d’Artagnan frowned. “Who promised you this?”

Cornette shook his head. “I don’t know her name. She said she was acting on orders of –“

A shot rang out, echoing against the silence of the night. D’Artagnan dropped to his knees, his pistol immediately leaping into his hands and Cornette gasped and fell lifeless to the ground. His heart was hammering in his chest as he forced himself to scramble to Cornette’s side and place his hand on the man’s chest.

Nothing. He could feel no heartbeat, no rise or fall of his lungs.

Staying low, he scanned the area, the silvery moonlight casting shadows that tried to play tricks with his mind. A distant scuffling of rocks drew his attention to the hillside, but he could detect no movement. He stilled, trying to pick up any sound to indicate danger, but nothing beyond his own harsh breathing broke the silence.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“D’Artagnan!” Athos rushed from the shack, his sword raised, ready for battle. Seeing no eminent signs of attack, he hurried to his friend, thankful to see the Gascon rise from his crouch near Cornette’s prone body, apparently unharmed.

“The shot came from up there.” The younger man pointed a shaky hand at the looming hillside. His voice was trembling from the rush, his breath labored, but he seemed to have his wits about him. 

Athos sighed, relieved. 

“I heard the sound of scrabbling as the assassin made good his escape,” d’Artagnan continued, his voice gaining strength as he reported. “But I couldn’t see who it was. Whoever it was seems to be gone now.” He looked down upon Cornette’s body with regret. “There was nothing I could do.”

Athos laid a hand on the young Musketeer’s shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “We must get the Dauphin safely to the palace.” He knew there was nothing he could say that would take away the sting of losing someone in your protection, but he could focus d’Artagnan’s attention on his duty. There would be time for self-recrimination once the Dauphin was safely back where he belonged.

D’Artagnan nodded, a small grin telling Athos he knew what the older man was doing and he was grateful for it.

“I’ll get the horses. It will be safer for you and Madame Cornette to stay here with the Dauphin.”

Athos nodded his approval and the younger man took off down the lane at a run.

As he turned to go back into the shack, Athos felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle and he slowly let his eyes roam the dark hillside. There was nothing he could see, but his senses kept him on edge. He’d learned to trust those senses long ago and they were telling him now that they were not alone. Placing a hand on the hilt of his sword, he turned in a complete circle, his gaze sweeping the shadows, coming to rest once again on the sloping hill behind the house.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Rochefort crouched high on the hillside, watching the tableau below. He smiled as he raised the musket, aligning the lone figure in the courtyard below in sights. Even at this distance he had no trouble recognizing the man who was circling, searching through the darkness for a sign of threat.

“Soon, La Fere,” he said softly as he pulled the trigger of the spent weapon. “Very soon we shall see who the better man truly is. 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

Their arrival at the palace was met with great joy. The Dauphin was immediately taken from Athos’ arms and hustled up the stairs to the Queen’s quarters, while the Musketeers were forced to step aside as Marie was taken into custody, crying softly as the guards led her away. Tréville approached, a satisfied look on his face.

“Well done, gentlemen,” he said with a smile. “The King and Queen will be very pleased the child was returned unharmed.”

Athos nodded, accepting his captain’s praise. “Unfortunately there are three of the Cardinal’s Red Guard who are not as thrilled with the outcome.”

“Trouble?”

“They somehow knew of the remote farmhouse where Cornette and his wife were keeping the child.”

“They followed you?” 

Athos shook his head. “Unlikely. We noticed no one on our trail and I doubt Cardinal Mazarin has anyone in his employ capable of tracking us in the dark.”

Tréville frowned. “What are you implying?”

Athos chose his words carefully. “The Red Guard knew exactly where to find the Dauphin. Unless they were conducting their own investigation and followed the exact information we did, they could not have ascertained such a remote location so quickly unless someone with prior knowledge told them where to go.”

“Don’t forget Cornette,” d’Artagnan reminded him.

Athos tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Madame Cornette’s husband was also present. He claimed he was hired to take the Dauphin, but he was shot before he could reveal his conspirators.”

“Shot by whom?”

“Unknown.” D’Artagnan took up the narrative. “As far as I could tell, the shot came from the hillside. It would take a marksman almost as good as Aramis to make a shot like that.”

Tréville took a deep breath and paced away from them toward the stairs. “I shall inform the King. He will want to know who is behind this.”

“I doubt he’d believe it,” d’Artagnan mumbled under his breath. 

Athos grunted in agreement.

“What of the woman?” he called, stopping the Captain before he ascended the stairs. Marie had told her story on the journey back to Paris and both men had felt sympathy for her plight. She had been despondent at the loss of her second child and influenced by her husband to take the Dauphin from his nursery. Considering what Constance had told d’Artagnan about Madame Cornette earlier, neither of them doubted her account.

“I’m afraid her fate is out of our hands,” Tréville sighed. “She is guilty of crimes against the crown. She will probably be hanged.”

Athos’ good mood was quickly evaporating. 

“Maybe we could speak for her to the King?” d’Artagnan offered. “She protected him from the Red Guard, treated the baby as if he were her own. She meant him no harm.”

Tréville shook his head sadly. “Be that as it may, d’Artagnan, this is something the King will not let go unpunished.”

“Then perhaps we could appeal to the Queen,” Athos suggested. “Madame Cornette was grieving and easily manipulated. I believe the Queen may be disposed to understand her sorrow.”

“The Queen does not wish to be disturbed at present,” Tréville announced. “She just wants to spend time with her son. Perhaps tomorrow you could request an audience.” He waved a hand as he began his ascent. “Go. You’ve done the regiment proud. Take comfort in a job well done.”

Athos waited until Tréville disappeared from view before turning to d’Artagnan and giving him a grim smile. “Come d’Artagnan. I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Morning dawned bright and beautiful in the village of Perpignan. The sun rose over the edge of the sea, briefly setting the azure waters ablaze in a riot of orange and gold. From his position on the bluff, Porthos could make out the hustle of the docks below, ships being loaded and readied to set sail, sailors and merchants already going about their business even as the rest of the village was waking to a new day. 

Porthos took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air and smiled at the puRenéss of the scent. How anyone could want to leave this place was madness, but, he chided himself, that was exactly he was planning to do – and he hoped to have Aramis by his side.

When he’d returned from the warehouse, Odette had insisted he stay the night, Robert grumbling his acquiescence before disappearing into his room and retiring. The Madame had apologized for his behavior and Porthos had waved it away, secretly glad not to have to confront the surly older man. Growing up alone, with no family except those he chose to consider as such, it was inconceivable to Porthos how anyone could regard their own flesh and blood as unwanted as Robert seemed to consider his brother. Though not related by blood, Porthos considered Aramis family and would die to protect him. He simply could not fathom how Robert so easily dismissed Aramis when he was obviously seeking support.

His exhaustion had finally gotten the better of him and Porthos had managed to drop off to sleep soon after his head hit the pillow. He was unaware when -- or even if -- Aramis returned last night and had been alarmed when he’d woken to find the marksman nowhere in sight. Odette had assured him Aramis had come home late last evening, but had risen before dawn and disappeared into the darkness. She had confided that he’d still looked troubled, but had given his word he would return before Porthos could take his leave.

Now, as the sun began its path into the deep blue sky, Porthos found himself waiting anxiously for his friend. He’d already tacked up his horse as well as Aramis’ and placed both their weapons belts on the steps near the front doorway of the house. He let himself hope that the long night of contemplation had set some things straight in the younger man’s mind, allowing him to recognize where he truly belonged. Porthos told himself if Aramis decided to stay here in Perpignan working for his brother, he would respect his decision. He would return to Paris, alone -- albeit with a heavy heart -- and continue his life as a Musketeer, holding the time they’d spent together over the years as a cherished memory. He prayed he wouldn’t have to, but he was resigned to the possibility of living the rest of his days without the camaraderie and the friendship he held so dear.

Soft footsteps behind him filled his heart with trepidation, and he found himself tensing as the familiar presence came to a stop beside him. He’d been anxiously awaiting this moment but now found himself fervently wishing to distance himself from it.

“I forgot how beautiful it is here.” Aramis pulled his dark cloak tighter around himself as the sun fought to warm the chilled morning air.

Porthos grunted in response, not trusting himself to speak.

Aramis seemed to understand the bigger man’s apprehension.

“I’m sorry, Porthos,” he began, and Porthos felt the bottom drop out of his world. He squeezed his eyes shut, a sudden buzzing in his ears almost drowning out his friend’s quiet voice.

Noting Porthos’ sudden distress, Aramis placed a hand on the big man’s arm and squeezed affectionately, and Porthos let the touch anchor him. “I’m sorry for making this so difficult for you, my friend,” he continued. “I know I have not handled this situation with competence and it is you more than anyone who has paid he price.”

Porthos frowned. “I’m pretty sure you’re the injured party here.”

Aramis chuckled. “Perhaps, but my decisions have effected not only you and Athos, but Captain Tréville, d’Artagnan… the entire regiment. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my rash behavior.”

Porthos allowed himself a sliver of hope. “There’s nothing to forgive, ‘Mis.”

Aramis turned back to face the sea, his arms hugging his torso, his curls wafting in the crisp breeze. “You are much too merciful, mon frere. It is one of your more admirable qualities.”

Porthos held his breath. They stood together, looking out over the water, the daily life of the village below continuing as if everything did not hinge on the next few words.

After a few moments, Aramis sighed. “I thought long and hard about what you said about promises I made and what is truly important. You were right. None of this is fair, but it is the life I have chosen… and the life that has chosen me. Running away, hiding here, solves nothing. Anne, the baby, they are still in my mind, still in my heart. Distance does not make that fade.”

Porthos nodded sagely. “What will you do?”

Aramis shrugged and huffed a laugh. “I have no idea. But whatever I do, I know it won’t be from here.”

Those words lifted the weight from Porthos’ shoulders and he suddenly felt dizzy with relief. 

“I don’t belong here,” Aramis continued, his eyes squinting out over the water, unaware of the broad smile breaking over his friend’s face. “I haven’t for a long time.” He looked up, the sun highlighting his dark eyes, making them a warm golden brown. “I am needed in Paris. My responsibilities lie there.”

Porthos sighed, not bothering to hide how pleased he was to hear Aramis’ words. He raised a hand and brought it down heavily on his friend’s back, grasping the nape of his neck and shaking it affectionately. “Took you long enough.”

Aramis smiled. It wasn’t his normal radiant grin, but it was sincere and Porthos was comforted to see it.

“I heard you’d returned, René!”

The voice from behind was harsh and both Musketeers turned to find three men standing in the courtyard of the house. The man in the center was tall and thin, his light brown hair falling in ringlets to his shoulders. He smiled confidently and took a swaggering step forward, his right hand crossing his body, resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. 

“Have you nothing to say, boy?” the man taunted. “It’s been a long time since you had the courage to show your face here.”

“Étienne,” Aramis took a few steps to the right, distancing himself from Porthos, his attention focused on the man across the courtyard. “I have no quarrel with you. Our differences were settled long ago.”

Étienne laughed, a cruel, bitter sound to Porthos’ ears. The big Musketeer moved in the opposite direction, toward the house, flanking the men but not intruding, trusting his comrade to control the situation. 

“No quarrel?” Étienne spat. “My sister is dead because of you.”

Porthos’ caught Aramis’ eyes and he could see the guilt rising. He slowly shook his head, reminding Aramis that what had happened to Isabelle was in no way his fault, that he had done everything he could to save her and her blood was not on his hands. Aramis closed his eyes briefly and Porthos could feel his grief. The big man tensed, ready to defend his own if need be. When Aramis’ eyes opened, Porthos saw remorse, but he also saw the resiliency that had saved both their lives many times over.

“I regret what happened to Isabelle,” Aramis said, his voice even. “But I assure you I did all I could to protect her.”

“Your protection is worth nothing.” It was apparent by the vitriol in his voice that Étienne was not going to be swayed from his course of action; he had come for vengeance and he was determined to get it. Porthos kept a wary eye on the other two men standing just behind Étienne. They were both armed with swords, but neither had moved to unsheathe them as yet. Porthos continued to move slowly, finally coming to a stop beside the steps, aware of Odette and Robert standing just inside the doorway, silently watching the confrontation.

Aramis lifted his hands out from his sides and held them there, an innocuous smile on his face. “That may be true,” he said sadly, “and if possible I would have gladly traded places with her, but it is beyond my ability to do so. I am sorry for your pain and I assure you I will always feel regret for my failure to keep her safe. But, as I have been recently reminded, I am not infallible, nor am I responsible for the actions of others. God’s plans cannot be changed by a mere mortal.”

“Don’t speak to me of God’s plans,” Étienne argued. “It was your cowardice that got my sister killed. I have friends in Paris who have told me of the mighty Aramis, lover of women and renowned protector of the Crown. You chose to save the Queen over Isabelle. She was sacrificed for nothing more than your duty and glory.”

Aramis bristled at the accusation, but he held himself in check. “My duty was to the Queen, yes. But do not sully Isabelle’s memory by making her nothing more than a victim. She was strong – a fighter – and she died with honor.”

“Honor,” Étienne looked Aramis up and down, his face a mask of hatred. “What do you know of honor? You ran away with your tail between your legs like a dog all those years ago.” He drew his blade from its sheath and pointed it at the Musketeer. “You got lucky the last time, Aramis.” He spat the name with disdain. “You will not be as fortunate again.”

Aramis stood, hands still out to his sides, his face calm, his eyes alert. “I am unarmed.”

“You’re a Musketeer,” the taller man sneered. “I thought that made you invincible?”

Aramis chuckled and dropped his arms, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Perhaps not invincible,” he admitted. “But quite adequate.”

Aramis stepped back as Étienne lunged, allowing the man’s momentum to drive him past the Musketeer. Aramis deftly pulled his cloak from his shoulders and wound the heavy cloth around Étienne’s blade, pulling the sword from his grip with a flourish. He raised a foot and kicked out, connecting with his adversary’s back, sending the man down a shallow slope to a thicket of brush on the edge of the courtyard.

“Aramis!”

Turning, he caught the sword Porthos tossed to him just as Étienne’s two accomplices charged toward him, their own swords raised to strike. He ducked beneath the first man’s swipe, dancing back to avoid the point of the second as it was thrust, sweeping a leg out and taking the man’s feet out from under him. Turning to the first attacker, Aramis smiled and began to circle, gracefully stepping back to keep both the men in his line of sight.

Porthos took a seat on the steps and watched the proceedings with amusement. Aramis stood tall, his head high, his body loose with confidence as he began to toy with the two men, neither knowing how to defend against such obvious skill.

“Aren’t you going to help him?”

Porthos turned, surprised at the concern in Robert’s voice. He smiled assuredly and shook his head, returning his attention to the three men in the courtyard. “Nah. Aramis can handle the likes of them.”

Étienne had worked his way back to the courtyard and picked up his sword, joining his friends in a stance against the lone Musketeer. Porthos felt a twinge of worry – three against one was never good odds, even for them – but he had faith in Aramis’ ability to handle it and would not interfere unless invited.

Aramis placed his free arm behind his back and sidestepped, dipping his head to acknowledge Étienne’s arrival. As they spread out and circled the Musketeer, Porthos caught a gleam in the dark eyes that he’d feared never seeing again, and it allowed the big man to relax.

“There you are,” he said under his breath, a satisfied grin lifting his lips at the sight. “I knew you were still in there.”

The three men lunged, but their attack was not coordinated and Aramis was able to dodge two and disarm the third, a twist of his wrist sending the sword flying and the man scrambling back in panic. The second man soon followed leaving only Étienne standing. The tall man was skilled, but not even close to Aramis’ level of expertise and the Musketeer seemed to take pleasure in disarming him with a flourish and driving him to his knees, his rapier held fast against Étienne’s neck.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Aramis said, barely breathing hard. “Say the word and this is done. You walk away and I go back to my life in Paris.”

Étienne’s face was a mixture of fear and loathing, but he was wise enough to know he had lost and humble enough to admit it. Reluctantly he nodded and Aramis withdrew.

“Go,” Aramis lowered his sword and looked at the three men as they rose from the ground and dusted themselves off. “There will be no more hostility between us. It is done.”

Étienne raised his head defiantly but nodded, and the three men hurried down the hill and out of sight.

Porthos pushed himself from the steps and sauntered over to his friend who was leaning on his sword. The big man grinned, his eyes dancing with delight. “Enjoyed that, did you?”

Aramis returned his smile. “It felt good.”

Porthos slapped him on the back, nearly toppling the smaller man with his enthusiasm. “Looked like it did. What do you say we get a start back now, huh? Paris is a long way away.”

Aramis nodded, his smile fading a bit. “Thank you, Porthos.”

“For what?” the big man feigned confusion. “All I did was sit and watch.”

Aramis chuckled, slapping his friend on the back with as much power as he’d received moments before. “Sometimes that’s more than enough.”

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Where the Heart Is – Chapter 6

With his doublet and weapons belt in place and his hat sitting rakishly on his head, Odette’s brother-in-law no longer looked like the defeated man who had arrived only days ago. There was a purpose in his stride and a determination in his eyes Odette was thrilled to see, and she watched as he and Porthos finished packing their gear onto the horses that stood ready in the courtyard.

She held back a sigh, not wanting to appear anything but supportive of his decision to return to Paris, though she would miss him terribly. René had always been the one person who could make her smile even in the darkest of times, and she had sorely missed his light all these years. But the man she watched now was not the young boy she had helped raise, no longer the carefree youth whose quick grin and even quicker wit gave her such hope and promise for his future.

This man before her was not René d’Herblay, but Aramis, a stalwart soldier and one of the King’s finest Musketeers. She smiled at the easy camaraderie that flowed between him and Porthos and knew that whatever it was that had driven him to despair was no match for the deep and loving friendship they shared. 

Aramis sensed her gaze and said something to Porthos who raised his eyes to look in her direction. She lowered her head, not wanting either of them to see the tears forming in her eyes. She knew their lives were dangerous, keeping the King safe and the whole of France secure was not a job for the faint of heart. The bravery of the Musketeers was legendary and knowing this man was one of them left her heart swelling with pride.

She felt Robert step up behind her, his arm going around her waist in a show of support. They had never had children, and René had been so much younger than Robert, Odette had always treated him like he was her own. After their mother had died, she had taken the role more seriously, always letting René know she was there for him when he needed a mother’s touch. When he had left before, it was under a cloud of hostility, but not this time. Aramis had shown everyone the honorable man he’d become, and this time no one would be able to mistake his leaving for running away.

She straightened, plastering a smile on her face as the two Musketeers approached. She reached out to take Porthos’ hand, placing the other against his cheek.

“Take care of him for me, mon fils,” she said. 

Porthos smiled and leaned forward, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “You have my word.”

“Then I will have no worries. I know he will be in good hands.”

Porthos nodded to Robert who returned the gesture, then made his way back to the horses, leaving Aramis alone with his family.

“I wish I could stay longer,” he said to Odette. “But there are things I must make right.”

She nodded, a tear falling down her cheek despite her efforts to contain them. “You will always be welcome here, but Paris is now your home, Aramis.” At the use of his name, he smiled sadly at her.

“But part of me will always long for this.”

“Then maybe you should return for a visit more often.”

Both Odette and Aramis turned to Robert in surprise.

“I didn’t think you wanted me here,” Aramis challenged his brother.

Robert shifted on his feet, a blush of shame rising on his face. “You are my brother. And you are a good man. I want you to know that I’ve always believed that.”

Aramis smile graciously, accepting the apology for what it was. “I know. And I will return,” he promised.

Odette threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “I will hold you to that.” She released him after a few moments and held his face between her hands as she placed a kiss on both his cheeks. “Good bye, mon ange. Be safe.”

With a final nod to both of them Aramis turned and joined Porthos who was already mounted. As he swung into the saddle, Odette blinked the tears from her eyes and held a hand to her lips, sending her love to the boy she’d cherished and the man of honor he’d proven himself to be. René and Aramis. She would hold both of them dear to her heart.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

As they rode into the garrison, the two errant Musketeers were greeted by wide smiles from their comrades. Porthos pulled his horse to halt and slid from the saddle, rounding his mount to watch Athos and d’Artagnan rush to greet their friend as he dropped to the ground.

“Aramis!” d’Artagnan threw his arms around the Spaniard, much to Aramis’ surprise and amusement. “Welcome back!”

“It’s good to be back, d’Artagnan.” Aramis laughed, patting the young man on the shoulders as they pulled apart. He gave the Gascon a fond smile and ruffled the hair on his head. It was good to see his friends. He had truly missed them. He’d been worried they would be angry at how he left, but was grateful at the warm welcome he received.

“You’ve been missed,” Athos said quietly. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the back of Aramis’ neck, pulling the younger man to him, and Aramis felt another piece of his heart shift into place. “I regret the harsh way I spoke. I hope you can forgive me.”

“An apology from Athos,” Porthos chuckled as he reached out and took Aramis’ reins. “Guess you really were missed, eh?”

“Apparently,” Aramis responded with a glint in his eye. He turned to Athos, his smile warm. “There is nothing to forgive, mon frere. You were only speaking the truth. I was just not ready to hear it.”

Athos studied his face, seeing the certainty in his eyes. He nodded and stepped back as Aramis looked up at the landing leading to the Captain’s office. “I suppose I have some things to explain. Hopefully Captain Tréville will be as understanding of my lapse as the three of you have been.” It was Tréville’s response that had troubled him the most. Porthos had assured him the Captian would welcome him back with open arms, but Aramis wasn’t as sure. He had not confided in the man, and he had sensed Tréville’s disappointment. After all they had been through with Savoy and Marsac, he could only hope the Captain would have enough faith in him to give him another chance.

“I’m sure the Captain will be pleased to see you return,” d’Artagnan assured him. “He seemed very upset about losing a good man.”

Aramis chuckled. “He did, huh?” He pulled his hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair, looking up again and taking a deep breath. “No time like the present, I suppose.”

“I’m sure he will only have you mucking out the stables for a few weeks for your truancy,” Athos offered helpfully.

“A few weeks?”

“A month at the most,” Porthos agreed.

“Wonderful.” Aramis squared his shoulders and marched up the stairs, stopping before Tréville’s office, knocking forcefully.

“Come.”

The young man cleared his throat as he stepped through the office door, coming to stand at attention before Tréville’s desk.

“Captain.”

Tréville looked up from the parchment he had been writing on and leaned back in his chair, his eyes roaming up and down the wayward soldier before him. He said nothing and Aramis remained stiff, his eyes carefully focused on the wall behind the officer. He felt a drop of sweat fall from his temple and track down his cheek, but he forced himself not to flinch.

“At ease,” Tréville finally allowed.

Aramis relaxed marginally, his mouth dry, his eyes flicking to Tréville’s.

“I owe you an apology, Captain. And an explanation.”

“Yes, I suppose you do. Though I’m not sure I would want to hear it.”

Aramis frowned, unsure of the man’s meaning. Did he somehow suspect? Or was he so angry at his soldier’s lack of professionalism that he no longer considered him fit to serve? He had no idea what to say, so he simply waited for Tréville to continue.

“Aramis.” The Captain leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, his hands clasped before him. “Whatever it is that drove you from here, cannot be overlooked any longer. I believe I’ve been more than lenient because… well I suspect we both know why, but I need to know I can count on you. Your brothers need to know they can count on you.”

Aramis dipped his head, unable to meet the man’s gaze. “I know. I have no excuse. I…” he swallowed hard and raised his eyes, returning the Captain’s stare evenly. “I certainly wouldn’t blame you for not taking me back –“

“How can I take you back when you never left?”

Aramis’ brow furrowed. “Sir?”

Tréville stood and crossed the room to a cabinet against the wall. He opened the door and pulled a familiar leather pauldron from the shelf. Turning, he held it out to the stunned young man. 

“I never got around to reporting to the King.” Tréville’s face was the picture of innocence, a mask of stoicism to rival Athos’ on his best day. “Officially, you never resigned your commission. As far as anyone knows, you were on leave due to a… family matter.”

Aramis accepted the pauldron, brushing his hand over the familiar leather with reverence. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say this nonsense is finished.”

The younger man nodded. “I was… confused, but I know where I belong now.”

Tréville moved back to his desk, clasping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder as he passed. “Good. I will expect you at muster in the morning.”

Aramis recognized the dismissal and moved to the door almost by rote. He paused on the threshold, looking back over his shoulder to see Tréville watching him.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Tréville simply nodded and Aramis took his leave. His friends were waiting at the foot of the stairs; Athos leaning his back against the post while d’Artagnan and Porthos sat on the lower steps. They both rose as he started down the staircase, holding his pauldron up in his hands.

“Apparently the Captain hadn’t found the time to return this to the King.”

Porthos smiled and grabbed the leather harness, deftly slipping it over Aramis’ arm and bucking it in place.

“There,” he slapped a hand on the pauldron. “That looks better. How does it feel?”

Aramis huffed a laugh. “Like home.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos watched Aramis closely as d’Artagnan explained what had happened in his absence. He had wanted to tell the marksman about the threat to the Dauphin in private, fearing he would react from emotion, unheeding of the scrutiny of those around him. So far, Aramis had remained outwardly calm, only his dark eyes betraying the anger and guilt at not being here to help resolve the situation.

“So what of the woman?” Porthos asked after d’Artagnan had finished his tale. The big man was sitting close to Aramis, his hand casually placed near the other man’s arm in case he tried to bolt from his seat at the garrison table. Athos had positioned himself on Aramis’ other side, one hand on his shoulder for much the same reason. Athos could feel the tension running through the younger man’s body, but so far he had made no move to escape their company.

“We spoke with the Queen, explained to her the circumstances of Madame Cornette’s involvement. She seemed to feel sympathy for Marie and convinced the King to spare her, though she will never be welcome in Paris again.”

“She said she had relatives in Marsielle,” Athos concluded. “We can only hope she will be able to find some kind of solace there.”

Athos and Porthos exchanged a glance, both of them looking at Aramis who hadn’t said a thing since d’Artagnan began.

“Sounds like you handled things fine while we were gone,” Porthos praised the others, but kept his eyes trained on Aramis’ profile. “All’s well, eh?”

“The Dauphin is fine,” Athos agreed. “The Queen is happy to have him back safely.”

Aramis eyes flicked to Athos as if he understood he older man’s message, but his eyes still burned with anger. Athos raised an eyebrow and subtly motioned toward d’Artagnan. Porthos immediately understood.

“I’m starved,” he said, his voice loud and boisterous. “Come on, lad. Let’s go see what we can talk Serge into cookin’ up for us.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Athos sat down next to Aramis, his back to the table.

“He’s fine,” he assured his friend. “I give you my word. He was not harmed.”

“And Anne? Was she unharmed also? Having to live through the trauma of losing her child?” His voice shook and Athos could hear the self-loathing saturating it. “And where was I when they were going through this? Feeling sorry for myself! Running away from every promise I made.”

Athos placed a hand on his friend’s arm and leaned close. “You could not have known, Aramis. And even if you had been here, you would not have been able to stop it. There were forces at work nobody would suspect.”

“Meaning what?”

Athos sighed. “Meaning Cornette and his wife were hired by someone who wanted to create the situation for their own gain. I doubt the Dauphin was ever in any real danger.”

Aramis frowned. “What are you saying, Athos? Someone orchestrated this? To what end?”

“To put themselves in good standing with the King, I presume.”

Aramis’ eyes smoldered. “You mean Mazarin.”

“It cannot be proved.”

“But you believe it so.”

Athos sighed. “Before he was killed, Cornette told d’Artagnan he was hired by a woman. I may be overly suspicious of my former wife and see her hand in everything evil, but if she was the woman who approached Cornette, it would only follow she was acting on the Cardinal’s orders.”

Aramis hands clenched into fists and he slammed them against the table violently. “I will kill him.”

“You will do nothing,” Athos ordered. 

“Such wanton malevolence cannot go unpunished!”

At his friend’s burst of anger, Athos held up a hand. “His strategy failed and we will find a way to thwart whatever he has planned, I promise you. But for now, we must bide our time and keep our eyes and ears open. He will make a mistake and when he does we will be there. For now, you’re responsibility is to the Queen and your son, Aramis. They need your protection. Can they count on you do give them that?”

Aramis nodded, his anger replaced by a fierce resolve Athos was pleased to see. 

“I will never leave them vulnerable again.” 

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis paced the empty corridor, nervously awaiting an audience with the Queen. Athos had tried to dissuade him, but he could no longer contain his anxiety and needed to see for himself that she – and their son – were safe and well. 

The doors at the end of the hallway opened and he turned, his knees nearly buckling as Anne strode through, followed by her attending ladies and guards. She held up a hand, halting the courtiers near the door as she stepped across the tiles toward him, a soft smile on her radiant face.

“Aramis,” she greeted, extending her hand for him to kiss.

“Your Majesty,” he took her hand, bowed, and placed his lips on her warm skin. “You look radiant.”

Her smile increased. “I am well,” she responded, her eyes meeting his, not bothering to hide the emotion they contained. “As is my son, thanks to your friends.”

Aramis ducked his head. “You were fortunate they were here to bring the situation to a successful conclusion.” He tried to hide the self-contempt in his tone, but wasn’t quite sure he’d accomplished the task when she placed her other hand over his.

“As I’m sure you would have done, had you not been pulled away by matters beyond your control.”

He looked up and caught her eye, fearing condemnation, but seeing only remorse and understanding.

“I should have been here.”

Anne nodded. “Yet your absence was not entirely of your own doing.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “I was wrong to say those things to you. Knowing you are here for us is the one thing that makes this life bearable. I hope you can forgive me my rash behavior.”

Aramis frowned, confused. “There is nothing to forgive, Your Majesty. You spoke the truth.”

She shook her head. “It was not my truth, Aramis.” She hesitated, looking over her shoulder nervously at the people congregated behind her. “We cannot speak freely now, but I hope you will trust me enough to believe I spoke those words in fear. A fear I will no longer allow to control me.”

“Did something happen? Did someone threaten you?”

Anne nodded. “The Cardinal insinuated I was being watched… closely. I… was afraid of his meaning, so I pushed you away.”

Aramis’ eyes narrowed, his lips thinning to a hard line. “The Cardinal’s days are numbered. His affiliation with the church will not protect him from my wrath.” he hissed.

Anne’s hold on his hands tightened. “You must do nothing. As Athos pointed out to me, he has no proof and we cannot give credence to his suspicions.”

Aramis sighed and took a step back, heeding the wisdom of her words, wary of the scrutiny they were currently under.

“You are right, but I give you my word, you shall have nothing to fear from Mazarin or anyone else. I will let no harm come to you. Either of you.”

She smiled and he felt his heart leap in his chest at the trust and love reflected in the gesture. “I have faith in you, Aramis. I know we are safe as long as you are here.” 

He bowed, his eyes holding hers, conveying his resolve. “Then this is truly where I belong.”

She took a step back and folded her hands regally across her stomach. “Your loyalty and concern have never been in doubt, Monsieur Aramis” she said, pitching her voice louder for the audience behind to hear. “And both are very much appreciated.”

He nodded as she turned and strode back to the assembled servants, leading them back through the doors. His hand strayed to the gold cross he wore and pulled it to his lips, kissing it reverently, his eyes watching the Queen’s entourage disappear from view.

“It seems even though you missed all the excitement, Her Majesty still considers you her champion.”

Aramis forced himself to remain still as the Cardinal’s voice echoed across the wide hallway from behind him. He felt the man’s gaze on his back like a dagger through his skin and swallowed hard to control the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of Mazarin’s nearness to Anne and their child.

He took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly in an attempt to calm the rage that thrummed through his body. His muscles were tense and he knew his anger showed in his eyes. Closing them, he fought to contain his emotions, remembering what Anne had said about not lending credence to the Cardinal’s accusations.

Athos was right. Mazarin had no proof of anything. He could speculate all he wanted, but there was nothing to condemn them save their own actions.

He would not give the man that satisfaction.

He pasted a dangerous smile on his face and turned to the man who had orchestrated the kidnapping of his son.

“So it would seem,” he responded, surprised at the evenness of his voice. “From what I’ve heard, no harm was done and the Dauphin is safely back in his mother’s arms – thanks to the Musketeers.” He added the last simply to bait the Cardinal and was pleased to see a cloud of annoyance briefly pass over the man’s countenance.

“Yes, your comrades should be commended. I’m sure the King will reward them justly.”

“I’m sure he will.” Aramis bowed, not able to stand to be in the man’s presence any longer than necessary. “If you would excuse me, Your Eminence, I must return to my duties.”

“Of course,” Mazarin replied. “I shan’t keep you.” He turned to leave, then hesitated and turned back to the Musketeer. “You should remain vigil, Aramis. There are eyes within the palace that see everything.”

Aramis narrowed his eyes at the man and nodded, acknowledging the thinly veiled threat. “And the Musketeers have eyes that see even more.”

Mazarin nodded in return. “I see we both understand one another. Good day. Aramis.”

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Mazarin stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him. In a fit of anger he stalked to his desk and ran an arm across the surface, violently strewing the accumulated papers and gadgets from the wood to clang and flutter to the marble floor in disarray. He leaned both fists against the polished surface and breathed harshly.

“That was quite the display.” Milady rose from the high backed chair she had been seated on, a delighted grin gracing her features at the man’s obvious irritation.

“Those damn Musketeers are a nuisance. I now understand why Armand was so ardent to be rid of them.”

Milady chuckled, the sound self-satisfied. “Yes, men who consider themselves heroes do tend to get in the way of progress.”

Mazarin huffed a reply and stalked around the desk, dropping heavily into his chair, rubbing a hand across his forehead as if trying to alleviate an ache within. “We must do something about them. I cannot have them meddling in my affairs any longer. The King will not confide in me if he can still rely on Tréville and those damned Musketeers.”

“It would be difficult to eliminate the entire regiment.”

“I am well aware,” Mazarin spat. “But even one would make me feel better.” He raised his head, a sneer of distaste twisting his features. “Starting with that bothersome champion of the Queen, Aramis.”

Milady raised an arched brow. “The handsome one?”

Mazarin simply glared in response.

“I thought the King trusted you?” Milady perched on the corner of the desk, her skirts parting to reveal the tight, black leather breeches worn beneath. Mazarin’s eyes were immediately drawn to her legs, smiling at the sheathed dagger strapped to one of the shapely limbs.

“Louis does trust me… to an extent. But Tréville does not, and now he has the King’s ear more than ever.”

Milady leaned forward, waiting and watching as the Cardinal’s gaze traveled from her leg to her bosom, then finally up to her calculating eyes. “The Musketeers rely on their captain’s lead. Perhaps Tréville is the nuisance that must be removed.”

Mazarin returned her smile and placed a bony hand on her thigh. “Perhaps, my dear, you are absolutely right.”

The End…. For now

Three stories down – one more to go!! The conclusion to my little arc will be up soon. I’d love to hear what you think! Thanks for sticking with me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who are leaving these delightful comments! It's been so much fun to dive into this world. The last story of this arc is almost complete, so will hopefully be up by the end of the week. Then I've got a few more ideas to come that takes into consideration the events of season 2. Poor Aramis. I have no intention of leaving him alone. :)


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